


Ereinion

by HASA_Archivist



Category: The Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: 2nd Age - Rings, Drama
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-18
Updated: 2002-07-20
Packaged: 2018-03-23 13:06:15
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 24,094
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3769619
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HASA_Archivist/pseuds/HASA_Archivist
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Gil-galad story, taking place after the destruction of Eregion.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Scion of Kings

**Author's Note:**

> Note from the HASA Transition Team: This story was originally archived at [HASA](http://fanlore.org/wiki/Henneth_Ann%C3%BBn_Story_Archive), which closed in February 2015. To preserve the archive, we began manually importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in February 2015. We posted announcements about the move, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this author, please contact The HASA Transition Team using the e-mail address on the [HASA collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/hasa/profile).

The journey to the furthest encampment in the east had taken ten days, as fast as possible considering the size of their group. 

Everyone, including the High King, was covered in dirt; it had been raining for the past three days and the much-used roads had become muddy beyond recognition. Gil-galad was glad to enter the tent that had been waiting for him since word of his impending arrival had been delivered by messenger. Twenty minutes later, refreshed and wearing a clean set of clothes, he ordered his war-council into the tent and they crammed around the table, bending over the detailed maps of the area.

'There will be no trouble holding our position here, my Lord, we have three thousand forces at the ready...'

Gil-galad smiled broadly.

'And there is the little fact that Gorthaur* seems to be running away, not towards us, too.' 

The commander stepped back, nodding, ready for another to take his place and be the subject of the High King's jesting.

'An additional part of the forces has been cut off by the enemy's main horde, my Lord.' Another commented, not stepping forward.

'How long ago?' Gil-galad asked, walking a little as he studied a more eastern part of the larger map, closer to Mordor.

'Three weeks, my Lord.'

Gil-galad nodded and pointed at a spot at the map.

'Am I informed correctly; the enemy's vulnerable spot is here?'

'Indeed, my Lord, but even if _they_ are still strong enough to fight through it...'

Gil-galad waved the remarks away.

'How many do you think would be necessary to get through there and back?

There was a moment of silence as the commanders looked at each other.

'My Lord does not intend to send a group to search for them?'

'I intend to lead a group... How many men?'

'Smaller would be easier to slip through, but, of course, with a large force one has more striking power...'

'If you are quick enough, in and out, you could do it with your own escort, my Lord.' The last remark left most voices silent. 

But Gil-galad nodded.

'I agree. Elrond?'

The Lord of only recently founded Imladris had been near the entrance of the tent, looking at the continuing rain outside. Yet there could be no doubt he had heard everything. When he turned around, folding his arms, his face was stern.

'I do not think it is your place to go, my Lord.'

'Your opinion is noted, thank you.' Gil-galad replied as he walked around the table, his fingers running across the map. 'I shall take anyone who wishes to come, up to the number of a hundred. And every Elf that does, will be rewarded once we return, or his house will receive honours if we do not.'

Gil-galad looked around the table at the faces of his generals.

'We will ride at dusk.'

As they left, speaking hushed if at all, Gil-galad lowered unto a chair and stared at the maps on the table, his hand to his chin.

'If you do not want to go, I understand.'

Elrond shook his head with determination.

'It would be an honour to ride with you, my Lord. If I would let you go without me, and something happened, I would not forgive myself.'

Gil-galad gave him a nod.

'Thank you.'

'Yet, I had rather you send me, and stayed here yourself.' the Halfelven offered, even if he predicted the answer already.

He watched his king shake his head.

'Not this time, meldir*, not this time...'

'I will go and see to the men, my Lord.' Elrond said softly, a touch of rejection in his voice. 'Perhaps you should get some rest in the few hours until sundown.' 

As he bowed shortly and left the tent, Gil-galad sat back. This was not the time to brighten up Elrond, to tell him it was not his fault. Later, he would tell him later. He let his mind wander, peaceful but alert, ready to be on his feet within moments, if necessary.

He did not know how much time had passed, when someone entered, and Gil-galad forced himself out of his dreamy state.

It was Lord Danhelm, who had travelled with them from the palace in Lindon, and another man, unfamiliar to the High King. Danhelm nodded.

'My Lord, this is Sir Brougham, he's is one of the Númenórean commanders.'

Brougham bowed and Gil-galad looked at him. 

'I seem to recall a man of your name. You fought some of the wars on the coasts of the mainland, I believe.'

With a quick movement of the canvas that served as entrance to the tent, Elrond re-entered and exchanged a quick glance with Gil-galad.

Brougham bowed again.

'Yes, my Lord. I was glad to serve my king then, as I am now.'

Gil-galad looked from Brougham to Danhelm inquiringly.

'Well...?'

'He has volunteered to come with you...'Danhelm said, glancing at the maps.

'There are more than enough volunteers as it is, my Lord.' Elrond interrupted, as he took Gil-galad's armour out of it's storage place, even though it was more a task for an attendant, and not that of a Lord. 

Gil-galad smiled as he rose from his chair.

'We need good men here, Sir Brougham. It is the same reason I will not let Danhelm come. Now if you will excuse me.' 

He stepped into the more private part of the tent and took the armour from Elrond. They had gone when he returned. Elrond was bent over the maps.

'Wasn't it a Brougham who pulled back after his general was killed?' Gil-galad asked, as he fastened and sheathed his sword.

Elrond did not look up. He seemed intent on memorising the map.

'It was the same man, my Lord. I would not trust him with my horse.'

Gil-galad knew that if Elrond harboured any distrust towards a person it usually was founded. Still, he did not immediately react on it.

'If the odds are as bad as most people around here seem to think, we could have better taken him with us.' He commented, fastening his leg armour.

Elrond smiled and waited for Gil-galad to rise to his feet and don his cloak.

They nodded at each other and left together, mounting the waiting horses, joining those that stood waiting.

The party, split in three smaller groups, rode fast through the woods, praying the information they had last received on the whereabouts of the enemy was correct. It was dark, cold and wet, but Gil-galad knew that it might be in their advantage; they would not expect riders in this kind of weather. After more than four hours, the scouts that had been sent ahead began returning. Their whispers began reaching Gil-galad, who rode at the front of the centre group.

'There is an encampment in front of us; fifty, perhaps a hundred men.'

Gil-galad slowed and Elrond motioned his horse closer.

'Do we try to go around them?'

Gil-galad was silent for a moment, and was aware of the muted speech of his riders, the heavy breathing of the horses.

'This is the weak point?'

Elrond led his horse away a little, and spoke shortly to another scout, before returning.

'We have not yet passed the main army, my Lord, but the scouts say this does not seem like a fighting force. There seem to be only Men here, not orcs.'

Gil-galad nodded, more to himself than to someone else, in the darkness.

'We advance and ask questions afterwards... We cannot have them assail us at the rear later. Have twenty-five men surround the site so no one will get out and alarm others.'

Half an hour later the first group charged, word coming back quickly to the others that all was clear; most of the men surrendering without a fight.

Once in the camp, Gil-galad waited, next to his horse, as Elrond talked to the men who had questioned the prisoners. With large strides, Elrond ran back.

'They tell us there were Elvish prisoners from our lost force, but they were taken away not three hours ago.'

Gil-galad narrowed his eyes and scanned the dark edge of the woods.

'Did they say where?'

Before Elrond could answer, a warning call from the woods startled everyone.

A voice roared above all the others, and only when Gil-galad had mounted his horse and heard it again, recognised it as his own.

'Rinc! Ned-an i tawat!*' 

An arrow flew alongside his head, he heard the whistling sound, and he made an evasive movement, fully aware that he would have been too late if it had been aimed centimetres to the right.

Spurring his horse he heard more following him.

It was Elrond's voice that urged him to speed up.

'Noro!* They have cut us off from the others... Go!'

They rode fast, only seven Elves, but after a furious gallop uphill Gil-galad signalled them to slow down. He stopped and waited for Elrond, his horse nervously turning in the dark night. Not even the rays of the moon penetrated the branches of the trees.

Elrond's voice was insistent when he came alongside.

'My Lord, we cannot stop, if it is discovered you are not with the larger part of our company it will only be a matter of hours before we will be pursued.'

Gil-galad took a moment to study the faces of the group. All of them, except Elrond, were members of his bodyguard. 

'What do you propose?'

As Elrond spoke in a low voice, his eyes never stopped examining their surroundings.

'These woods will be crowding with orcs, if they aren't already, and we are cut off from any major force that could help us... With these horses and armour we will undoubtedly be spotted in broad daylight... We have to find a place to hide.'

Gil-galad shook his head.

'I will not hide.'

'Would you rather go back?' Elrond asked, a slight tension audible in his voice.

Gil-galad turned his horse in agitation. 

'What I want to know is, were we ambushed?'

Even in the dark Gil-galad could see Elrond pressing his lips together.

'I believe we must consider the possibility.'

Gil-galad nodded, glad he wasn't the only one harbouring suspicions. 

'Even if we try to hide, there is no acceptable place here. Do you agree?'

Elrond nodded reluctantly.

'What do you propose?'

'That we ride until dawn, and decide then how to go on.'

'I agree.' Elrond said as he looked at the others. 'Let us go.'

 

Gil-galad shifted in his saddle, as he saw the first glister of daybreak.

They had cleared the forest hours ago, reducing their tempo; the horses were beginning to tire. Upon reaching a higher part of the hilly countryside, from where they could spot riders before they themselves were, it was decided to set up camp.

As he undid his breast armour Elrond kept watchful, peering into the distance. Gil-galad joined him, stretching his limbs.

'Are we being followed?'

Elrond squinted against the rising sun.

'Strangely enough, I don't think so. They seem to have lost us.'

'That sounds terribly optimistic.'

'There is nothing optimistic about our present situation.'

'We should send out three men, see if there are villages near.' Gil-galad said as he turned around and looked into another direction. 'But first we need to rest.'

'I shall take the first watch.' Elrond offered.

 

There was a sound of crickets, the wind rustling through the leaves of the trees they stayed under. Elrond caught himself drifting.

'I almost... Unforgivable...' He mumbled as he moved quickly to get on his feet.

'Don't worry... Findor and Brin have already ridden out. They will be back before sundown. When Jarin comes back from his search for food we will light a fire. I think we can do that without being noticed as long as it is light.' Gil-galad answered.

'Did you rest, my Lord?' Elrond asked.

Gil-galad ignored the question. He got on his feet and looked out over the forest, the trees from which they had come half a day ago.

'We need to get back, Elrond. If we were betrayed, they might think I am dead.'

'I do not fear for that, my Lord.'

There was a shrill whistle and Gil-galad turned towards the sound immediately.

Elrond was next to him immediately.

'It's Jarin...'

The Elf dismounted and handed his horse to one of his colleagues, before turning towards Gil-galad and Elrond.

'There is a village of men not ten miles from here. I've brought bread and wine... They thought I was from one of the farms around here, most of them were burned or looted. I overheard them speak of a group of orcs that had prisoners with them coming near there yester-night.'

Elrond and Gil-galad looked at each other.

'How many?'

'They seemed reluctant to find out.' 

'Moved on?'

'No one seems to be sure.'

Gil-galad walked back to the other side of the hill they were on. Elrond followed.

'What do you propose?' Elrond asked Gil-galad.

'We wait until Findor and Brin have returned and leave at sundown. If they do indeed have prisoners among them, they will be moving slowly, and we will easily catch up with them. We cannot stay here in any case. We've been here too long already.'

Elrond caught the King's eye.

'Why are you so set on finding those prisoners?'

'Because I made a promise...'

***~^*~^*~^*~^*~^*~^*~^*~^*~^*~^*~^*~^*~^*~^*~^*~^*~^*~^**

Gorthaur: Sauron

meldir: friend

'Rinc! Ned-an i tawat!' : 'Move! Into the woods!'

'Noro!: Ride! 

***~^*~^*~^*~^*~^*~^*~^*~^*~^*~^*~^*~^*~^*~^*~^*~^*~^*~^**


	2. Need of the Few..

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Gil-galad story, taking place after the destruction of Eregion.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Aaaw, I dedicate this to all my fellow UCMEC

**Note** : Aaaw, I dedicate this to all my fellow UCMEC members: you people are the coolest!

\---------------------

'You promised?' There was a resonance of surprise in Elrond's voice, almost disbelief, even though it was well-hidden. 

Gil-galad gave him a frown. He knew the son of Eärendil long enough to pick it up.

'I did.'

Elrond shook his head, almost unnoticeable.

'And who did you promise to save, my Lord?'

The answer came reluctantly, yet Elrond had no trouble picking it up in turn. They had perfected the art of distinguishing emotions from each others answers over the years.

'Lord Malthon…'

Elrond stayed silent, as Gil-galad stared into the darkness.

'You do not understand.'

An uncontrolled breath escaped the Lord of Imladris's lips.

'Perhaps I do, better then you presume. You promised the Lady Alian to save her husband.' Elrond pulled his cloak closer around him; the wind seemed to be picking up. Gil-galad watched him, as always valuing his opinion.

'Are we to leave them there, awaiting certain death?'

Elrond's eyes showed a sadness, his voice was barely audible.

'How many have died in the ambush last night? Is the life of one Lord worth more than any one of theirs? I must advise you not to turn this in some kind of martyrdom-related quest…' 

Already regretting the liberty he had taken, Elrond silenced himself and turned away.

Any other might have fallen from the High King's grace speaking such words. But Gil-galad only cleared his throat, not even slightly taking advantage of the vulnerable position Elrond had placed himself in.

'If you wish it, we will return now, and not go in search of the prisoners.'

Elrond faced Gil-galad again.

'If it were only that simple, my Lord…'

'Will it hurt if we take a look at the other camp?' the High King forwarded. 

Elrond tilted his head, not entirely certain of his answer. Finally he breathed in deeply and let out a sigh, accompanying it with a bland smile.

'The way you say it, my Lord, I fear it will not remain a look alone.'

 

'They rode with a detachment of only one hundred?' Glorfindel adopted an astonished stare as he faced Danhelm. 'And you let them?'

Celeborn crossed his arms as he watched Glorfindel grill Danhelm. They had ridden together from Imladris as soon as the news of victory had reached them. He cleared his throat and caught Glorfindel's eyes.

'You know Gil-galad's ways. He rarely takes advice if he sets his mind to something.'

'Did Elrond not disapprove?' Glorfindel continued, more or less ignoring the remark.

Danhelm nodded firmly.

'Master Elrond openly questioned the wisdom of the decision during the war-council, but I did not hear what my Lord Gil-galad discussed with him in private afterwards. Apparently he was brought around.'

Glorfindel seemed irritated as he walked into the High King's tent. Rather Elrond would have wanted to be near the High King in case something happened, he considered. He watched the maps which lay scattered across the table, much as they had been left three nights ago. Then he returned to Danhelm.

'When and where were they last seen?'

Danhelm had been ready for this question.

'Shortly after the advance on the encampment… Those who have returned say they saw the both of them last before the rain of arrows came down in my Lord Gil-galad's vicinity. Upon regrouping neither he, nor the Lord of Imladris was present.'

Glorfindel's eyes flared. Not exactly anger at Danhelm, but more a helplessness within himself.

'Are you telling me they have been taken prisoner?'

The expression in Danhelm's eyes worried Glorfindel. He bowed his head before he answered.

'The word is they are dead, my Lord.'

Celeborn came forward and rested his hand on Danhelm's shoulder.

'Only the council hears of this, you hear? No messengers to Imladris or Lindon as yet. Make sure of it.'

As Danhelm left, appearing even more helpless than before, Celeborn faced the other Elf-lord again. Glorfindel gave him a defiant stare. 

'I will not believe either of them is dead until they find their bodies.'

Celeborn bit his lip, inwardly reflecting on something.

'Consider, that if the troops that led the ambush were indeed under Gorthaur's command, and that Gil-galad and Elrond were captured, and not immediately killed… You _know_ what they will do to them, either of them… The High King of the Noldor, the Lord of Imladris; two individuals that have thwarted every single one of his attempts to conquer Eriador? Who together have chased him from the west? They are both symbols that would be destroyed with dedication. Taken home as trophies…'

Glorfindel silently walked a couple of steps before turning towards Celeborn again. Not a single part of him wished to consider those circumstances. But they had to anticipate.

'If both of them are… gone. Who will lead the Noldor?'

Celeborn shook his head.

'Círdan, Galadriel… I…'

Glorfindel slowly shook his head.

'He is not dead, Celeborn. I would have known it. I would have felt it…'

Celeborn nodded, not sure which of the two Glorfindel spoke of. But he understood the feeling, he desired to accept that as truth too…

 

The sounds of darkness, utter darkness, since neither the stars nor Rána* had chosen to appear, were all around them. For once, Elrond was thankful for it. The cover of shadows was integral for their victory.

 

The horses and their riders stood silently by, observing the camp, which was lighted from within by several small fires.

 

'Do they not expect us, that they have no guards? Another trap?' Gil-galad mumbled, to no one in particular. 

 

'What do you think?' he added, raising his voice only slightly. 

 

Elrond shrugged.

 

'We are not supposed to be here, my Lord. They have let down their guard under the misconception of safety.'

 

'Findor.' Gil-galad called softly, still not entirely convinced. The Elf came from behind and shortly bowed.

 

'My Lord.'

 

The horse shifted slightly beneath the High King, and Gil-galad patted it on the neck, before turning towards the Elf.

 

'I want you to stay here, in case we do not succeed. To relay what happened.'

 

If Findor was disappointed, he did not reveal it.

 

'Yes, my Lord.'  

 

'If all goes well, I'll send someone to get you. If you hear nothing by tomorrow morning, leave.'

 

The elf nodded and moved his horse back into the darkness.

 

 

Less than an hour later Gil-galad moved through the now eerily dark and quiet camp. Vigilant, he still carried his sword in his right hand. It felt strange.

 

Yet he remembered what he had been taught, long ago, even if he wasn't sure by whom exactly, as if it were yesterday. He could wield the weapon with either hand, but his right would always be the strongest.

 

It called to mind the story of Maedhros. The depictions of Fingon, in many of the books in his libraries back in Lindon, liberating Fëanor's son, a friend of old, who had been chained to the rock upon Thangorodrim by Morgoth. Maedhros had lost his right hand in the rescue, but it was told, and Gil-galad vaguely recalled seeing it in his youth, that he had lived to wield his sword with his left hand more deadly than he had previously been with his right. 

 

His father had soothed the unrest between the houses of Fingolfin and Fëanor with that deed, even if he had not been able to end it entirely. Due to it, Gil-galad knew _he_ now held the kingship over the Noldor…

 

And perhaps, Gil-galad mused, it was because of my father's doings that years later, pity was given on my…

_You have no son…_ Came his inward reprimand. 

 

'Perhaps not created of my own flesh, but he is my…' He argued with the more logical side of his Fëa. 

 

'My Lord.' He was interrupted, and Gil-galad turned to see Elrond running towards him.

 

'We have found nine of Malthon's companions, they are all safe and sound. They 

tell us he was here, but was taken into the woods, not an hour ago. North…'

 

Gil-galad's eyes grew large, if only for a moment.

 

'How many with him?'

 

'Three enemy guards…'

 

Turning immediately into the direction where his horse waited, Gil-galad motioned Elrond to follow.

'We have to be hasty, and hope we are not already too late.' He said, quickening his pace.

Elrond followed without hesitation, having already informed the others that this was likely to happen. He considered their chances to be good. Two against three, together with the element of surprise… Very good odds indeed, especially since the men that had been protecting the others hadn't been very impressive soldiers either. Only time was their enemy now…

Once they entered the dense forest, Elrond could not help but admire the instinctive manner in which Gil-galad seemed to find his way through the forest.

Riding dangerously fast, evading the large branches, which were no doubt able to force one onto the ground without trouble, he made out the tracks of the previous riders much faster than Elrond himself. 

And suddenly there it was, a small light among the trees.

Gil-galad was already riding towards it, and Elrond made out the sound of the unsheathing of a sword.

The man with the light had seen them coming, but, not been able to recognise them, had likely thought them of his own group, bearing a message. 

The sight of the body of a man, felled by the sword of an Elven king passing by on horse, made Elrond shudder involuntarily.

Gil-galad was in total control, using his element of surprise to the fullest, cutting down the man standing over Malthon's body, before turning on the other, who sank to his knees and begged for mercy.

Gil-galad barely waited for Elrond to secure the man before dismounting, nearly jumping of his horse to reach the person lying on the soft forest floor. 

For a moment Gil-galad thought the Elf at his feet was dead, but as he turned the body, his eyes met a pair of scared ones. With a quick flash of the knife he always carried with him in the field, he freed the hands and feet. 

Pulling Malthon up by the arm, Gil-galad observed him cautiously. The Elf-lord was Noldorin, his hair as dark as that of his two rescuers. On first sight there seemed nothing wrong with him. 

Malthon watched Gil-galad, somewhat shocked, having reconciled himself with the coming of seemingly certain death. His voice trembled slightly when he spoke.

'Am I dead, or dreaming?'

'Both, perchance,' Gil-galad couldn't refrain saying as he helped him unto the horse. 'Decide in the morning, so we can share my worries.'

Meanwhile, Elrond secured the bindings on the prisoners hand and feet, before cutting off some low branches with which he covered the body of the second man Gil-galad had slain.

As the High King took his horse by the halter, leading it back, Elrond silently followed, the prisoner draped across the back of the his own horse.

Nearly half an hour had passed since they had ridden out, and Gil-galad was pleasantly surprised when he was called to a halt by a voice from the dark, one that was gratifyingly familiar.

'It's only us, Jarin… And we bring more than we left with.'

Walking on, still leading the horse, Gil-galad gave the Elf a smile which could probably not be discerned in the darkness, and added a whisper.

'It is good you do not let their mistake be ours as well.'

Jarin voice betrayed relief and amusement.

'I will make sure it will not, my king.'

Once they arrived back at the camp, the High King would not allow anyone to help him with Malthon. Personally helping him to dismount and supporting him while entering the tent, which had formerly belonged to the captain of the group. His body had lain just outside, but Gil-galad noticed it had been taken from view.

Inside he motioned Malthon to sit down and looked down at him.

'Are you unhurt?'

Malthon shrugged, his eyes enquiring. 'I am fine… But what are you doing here? How many have you brought?'

Gil-galad did not seem willing to answer the question yet, raising his hand to stop the flow of words.

'Enough, simply tell me if you are hurt.'

Malthon seemed reluctant to confess, but did under the piercing eyes of the High King.

'Only the knee, chafed by an arrow.'

Gil-galad quickly examined the scar, which appeared to already have been taken care of. He would have Elrond take a closer look at it in the morning. Then he ordered Malthon to lie down on the field-bed that had already been present in the tent.

'Can I leave you alone?' he asked, pulling a blanket over the Elf-lord and maternally tucking it in at the sides. Malthon nodded, his eyes small.

'Of course, go.'

Gil-galad stepped outside, where the light of the stars had appeared, as if they had waited until the Elves had no more real use of the cover of night.

Elrond was talking to Findor, who bowed as soon as he saw the High King.

Gil-galad put his hand on the Elf's shoulder.

'It's very good to see you.'

Findor broadly grinned.

'Even better to be here, my Lord, truly.'

Gil-galad nodded as Findor took his leave, and turned to Elrond.

'How are they?'

Elrond began to walk a little, still watchful in the darkness, having already forbidden fires at this time.

'They are all good, they have been treated well, it appears they were recognised as the possible hostages they could have been.'

'Will they be able to travel?'

Elrond didn't need to calculate. 

'Tomorrow, perhaps the day after. You wish to leave?'

Gil-galad nodded.

'As soon as we can, I will not be caught as they… There were no orcs here?'

'None, my Lord.'

Gil-galad nodded grimly.

'Strange… How many prisoners?'

Elrond pointed to the largest tent, dark as the rest, which had previously held Elves as prisoners.

'Fifteen, they are guarded well, gagged and bound, sir.'

'You have made a schedule for the watch? When would I start?'

Elrond smiled.

'We have enough volunteers, my lord. I believe you have not truly rested for some time now. A clear mind is needed to decide on how to get us out of this, so perhaps it would be better…'

Gil-galad rested his hand on Elrond's shoulder and smiled.

'I will be with Malthon, and I will try to rest.'

Elrond returned the smile and bowed his head shortly.

'Very well, my Lord.'

'Anything else?' Gil-galad asked, always amused with Elrond's consideration. A long time ago, it had been the other way round. Elrond noticed the High King's drifting, his smile broadening.

'Nothing that can't wait till morning.'

Gil-galad pursed his lips and stared into the darkness.

'Excellent… Wake me at sun-up.'

Elrond watched Gil-galad, who with long dignified strides, re-entered the tent he had previously come from. The Lord of Imladris then signalled to Brin, who was in command of guarding of the prisoners, that he was leaving. When he left the camp, he whistled towards Findor, who returned the signal. He listened to Findor making the signal to Jarin, and somewhere, further removed, he heard the reply, clear in the air. Satisfied, he reached the early brushwood of the forest and quickly climbed the highest tree there, settling high up amidst the branches. For the coming hours until first light, he would not part with his sword, would not let his eyes or ears rest, trying to catch every sound, every whisper of everything.

With a grateful smile, he watched the evening star shining brightly above him.

 

Malthon listened to the High King's breathing, hoping it would slow, indicating a restful state. But although it slowed down considerably after a while, he knew Gil-galad was awake.

Carefully he cleared his throat.

'The Men that held us…'

Gil-galad shifted his body on the makeshift bed a couple of metres away. His clear voice carried no signs of weariness.

'We have all of them accounted for, your companions informed us.' 

Malthon was silent for a while.

'They spoke of you…'

The answer came tainted in a little disdain. 'Very graphically, I imagine.'

Malthon swallowed audibly.

'They said you were dead, or would be soon.'

'Yes.' The answer came from the darkness.

'I do not understand why you are here…'

Gil-galad smirked audibly.

'You have friends in high places…'

The sarcasm was hard to miss this time. Malthon kept silent for a while. The his question came hesitantly.

'Did she drag you into this?'

Gil-galad had not expected him to ask him such a forward question. This had been an issue they had talked around for as long as he could remember.

'Go to sleep Malthon.' The High King replied, the apparent irritation in his voice indicating this was the end of the conversation.

But now it was Gil-galad who listened to the other Elf's breath, waiting. Absentmindedly, he played with the small pendant around his neck. In all honesty, it was really too fragile to be worn in these conditions. But he was grateful for carrying it with him now; he needed to feel it against the bare skin under his tunic. It helped him keep his mind clear, to realise why he had started this foolishness in the first place. It held an explanation to why he was risking his life to save the Elf who had once hurt him beyond all reason.

Not far removed, Lord Malthon pondered over the same question. Why had the High King gone through all this effort, and notably for _him_ …

For both, the answer to their questions was the same…

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Rána: Noldorin designation for the moon


	3. Riddles in the Dark...

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Gil-galad story, taking place after the destruction of Eregion.

Elrond did not betray any signs of weariness as he returned to the camp shortly before sun-rise. A glorious scheme of colours announced the imminent arrival of _Anar_ *. It made for an impressive display of nature, which he willingly observed. 

A substantial mist hung about the grassy plains; it had wetted his hair in earlier hours, and the humidity only seemed to increase as sunrise crept nearer. Still, as soon as the full rays of light had appeared, it would no doubt be gone. 

Even some distance removed from the camp, he could see Gil-galad was already awake. Not that Elrond had expected differently. As the High King seemed to be discussing something with Findor, Elrond forcefully planted his sword into the ground next to the tub of water, before splashing his face and neck, and taking a moment to make sure his hair was straightened out. 

'And where have you spent the night, in a riverbed?' Gil-galad spoke, pointing at Elrond's damp clothing. The Halfelven smiled, recognising a rhetorical question as ever. 

'You had a good night, my Lord?'

Gil-galad smiled dryly.

'Tonight _I_ shall take the riverbed, and you can spend the night in a tent.' He pointed at the tents that made up the essence of the camp. 'I suppose we can take some of the smaller tents.'

Elrond walked over to the horses where he collected a package of lembas from his saddlebag. Offering some to Gil-galad, they scanned the surroundings once more. Elrond shook his head after he had chewed and swallowed his first bite.

'Tents can be observed from afar and they are difficult to break up if one needs to flee…   

Gil-galad pursed his lips and nodded.

'What do you think?'

Elrond walked around the horse to inspect the area once more. He looked back at Gil-galad.

'There is no way of knowing how long it will take for other forces to discover what happened here. We know nothing of a rendezvous point, only that they were ordered to go further east. And that they were supposed to kill Malthon when the chance occurred. The fact that they were idle doing so, has likely saved his life.'

'That, and the point of my sword.' Gil-galad added, his eyes caught in a stare. 'Which reminds me, could you take a closer look at Malthon's knee?'

'Of course.' 

Gil-galad nodded appreciatively. 'And what else?'

For a moment, Elrond pensively studied the profile of the Elf that stood beside him.

'I believe the dead have already been brought to the woods, and hidden. So I suggest we break up camp and leave behind everything we cannot use.' Elrond paused a moment before continuing. 'There is only the matter of the prisoners.'

Gil-galad nodded slowly.

'I am reluctant to set them free, but also to execute them.'

Elrond pressed his lips together, suddenly very aware they were once again deciding over lives. To busy himself, he walked back to collect his water container, which he had kept in the same place as the lembas. He held his back towards Gil-galad as he spoke.

'With a party of seventeen as we are now, we cannot take fifteen prisoners with us.'

Gil-galad took the flask of water Elrond handed over, holding it for a moment. Now it was his turn to carefully study the other's face.

'Do you believe they know who we are?'

Elrond kicked some dirt away with his boot. 

'I do not believe so, no one, except for the man we took from the woods, has actually seen you. Or me, for that matter.'

The well-known glimmer began to appear in Gil-galad's eyes. He neared Elrond and took his arm.

'How about a little political scare, are you game?' 

Elrond could do nothing but smile.

'Very well…'

 

After some short deliberations, making certain their voices were capable of being heard, Gil-galad and Elrond took their places near the entrance of the tent where their prisoners were being held, pretending not to give too much attention to the men inside.

'Once the larger part of the host comes this way, they can easily take over the prisoners, at nightfall, my Lord High King.' Elrond spoke earnestly, trying not to let the twinkle in his companions eyes get the upper hand, which would result in him spoiling their entire plan with laughter.

'But it would mean they would need to break away from their direct march towards the flank of the Sauron's army. We could loose the element of surprise.'

Gil-galad was definitely enjoying this, contagious as it was.

'You are right, sir… We could take the prisoners into the hosts direction, your Highness. Where we can rejoin the troops ourselves.' Elrond replied, grinning, trusting it could not be seen.

'Through the woods?' Gil-galad's enquiry seemed almost too obvious.

Still, Elrond couldn't resist the answer. 

'Exactly, my Lord.'

'Blindfold them.' Gil-galad said as he exchanged a quick glance with Elrond, and then with Brin, Findor and Jarin. 'Lead them into the woods.'

Elrond entered the tent, addressing the prisoners.

'If any one of you tries to escape, we shall not hesitate to kill you then and there. If you speak when not spoken to; we will act identically.'

Blindfolded inside, Gil-galad observed the prisoners leave the tent. As soon as they were outside, they were rushed into the open field, before led into the forest. Findor and Jarin would hurry them through the woods for half a day. Then, they would quietly leave them walk further alone, still blindfolded, and themselves, return to the spot where they had camped before, on the top of the hill. 

Meanwhile, the remaining part of the Elves would break up the camp here, before making their way to the rendezvous as well.  

From there they would attempt to return to the front lines, using the same hole in the troops as before. The little charade Gil-galad and Elrond had acted out, was simply a precaution. If the Men, instead of fleeing home upon discovering their abandonment, would decide to return to their generals and warn them, word would get out that there was a force on its way to attack from the other side, and that the High King was still alive. This would hopefully also reach their own troops. With any luck they would pick up the strange pre-emptive movement of the enemy and deduct the rest from there.

The remaining Elves spent four hours hiding any signs of the encampment, deciding not to take anything but the basic necessities. The remnants that were not taken were hidden in the forest.

 

Gil-galad sat against one of the trees, looking out over the grassy plains as the sun was slowly going down.

His armour was now deliberately covered with dark mud, which hid the coloured metal that would be easily recognisable from a distance. The others had followed his example.

Some distance removed from him, the rest of the group was feasting on meat from two wild animals they had caught this afternoon, shortly after they had arrived back here.

It was Elrond that came up and sat down beside him. He offered Gil-galad some of the finer slices of the meat. 

'Even if you refuse to sleep, you must eat.'

Gil-galad smiled and gratefully accepted it, while he had previously refused when Malthon had offered the same. 

'How good are our chances, you think?' he asked, swallowing his first bite.

Elrond smiled, relieved to see the High King eating.

'I really do not know… But so far luck has been travelling with us.'

'I suppose we need to find a place where we can have a couple of days rest.'

'That would seem a good idea.'

Gil-galad observed the Elf at his side. He was doing well in these conditions, even if he worried a little bit too much. It seemed Elrond always needed to worry about someone. 

Drifting off, Gil-galad recalled whistling, as he made his way through the corridors of the Palace in Lindon, and the sound of his footsteps as he had climbed the marble steps to the Great Library. There was no need to enquire if the eldest of the two Peredhil was there; it was considered common knowledge. Only upon reaching the large wooden doors, he had watched the bent figure for a moment, dark braids behind the ears, so they would not be in his way as he read and wrote. Books of all sizes littered about the table, papers filled with writing, many in his own hand. In the evenings Elrond could always be found in the Great Hall, taking in the stories and songs, his mind recording what his quills would entrust to paper the next morning.

He had been sixty years of age then… A mere boy, Gil-galad mused, and already so serious. He had been resembling his father more and more every passing year… He had stealthily moved nearer, his hands behind his back, careful not to let Elrond notice. A chance revealed itself as he looked over the younger Elf's shoulder.

'You have an oxymoron in the sixteenth line.' he had warned, as Elrond seemed to jolt in surprise.

'That's the point, my Lord.' A glimmer of exasperation could be distinguished in the voice.

Sitting down across the heavy wooden table, he had watched Elrond uncomfortably shift in his chair. 

'Where is your brother?'

'I know not, my Lord.'

'Perhaps with that Lady… What was her name again?'

Elrond had shrugged, but a little too reluctant for Gil-galad to see it as such. Romances here at Lindon were nothing strange, so many came and stayed, departing again as they pleased, Man and Elf alike. But one that involved such a choice, a possible severing between brothers… Gil-galad was not the only one who had observed a certain lack of enthusiasm in Elrond to accept his brother's potential wife.

'You have nothing against her, young master Elrond?'

'Not at all, my Lord.' Elrond had answered, repositioning his quill again, continuing his writing.

'Do you fear he will chose differently because of her?'

The pen had only halted slightly but Gil-galad had caught it immediately. 'Ah, have I hit upon something, son of Eärendil?'

Elrond had looked up at him, carefully placing the feathered pen where it could not leak onto anything, sitting back and folding his ink-stained hands.

'I have long suspected it… Only recently has he indicated to me, in the most haphazard of ways, that he intends to marry her. And, no doubt, that will make him choose mortality as well.'

'And you will not decide the same?' Gil-galad had asked, enjoying the questioning session with Elrond; as honest then, as they had stayed ever since.

All the same, the young Elf had been careful in voicing his answer. It came softly, a little cautious.

'It is a choice between two people to which we will never entirely belong… I will stay where I am most comfortable. Which is here, among Elves…'

Gil-galad smiled, as he had at that time… Elrond had been too perceptive, even then.

'Elrond,' he started, but as the pair of grey eyes met his own, the High King shook his head. 'Never mind, it is nothing.'

 

 

They travelled twenty kilometres west the next day, until they reached  a small forested stretch of land, not near any villages, and with overseeable grassy plains for miles on end.

 

'If the stars aid us by lighting the sky at night, we can spend a couple of days here at least.' said Malthon, slightly limping as he walked through the makeshift camp, still not able to put too much weight on his knee, despite Elrond's care.

 

Gil-galad smiled but did not reply as he rummaged through his saddlebag, not sure on what he searched for. He had been able to stay away from Malthon for the past days, but it appeared this would not last much longer. He saw the questions in Malthon's eyes. It would have to come of it sooner or later. Even if he preferred later.

 

Now that their group had grown in number, it had not taken long before his guard had started to act as in normal circumstances again; taking his horse, attending to him, from the first day of their arrival here.

 

He wasn't sure he liked it. Their ways were those of subordinates, attending to him was their duty to their master. Not similar to Elrond, who considered it a responsibility towards a friend, when he came to proffer food or drink. 

 

The relative peacefulness that seemed to lie in the coming days troubled Gil-galad. It would provide him with too much time to dwell on their situation. 

 

Returning from a late-evening stroll, he found most of the party that did not have watch-duty around the fire, imploring each other to tell a story.

 

'Tell us a story, Master Elrond,' Findor urged, and moved over to make place for the High King. Elrond's eyes caught those of Gil-galad.

 

'My Lord, one of your favourite pastimes would suit better, what do you say?'

 

Gil-galad inwardly thanked Elrond for trying to improve his spirits.

'Is it a riddle you want? Let me think…' Selecting a favourite from the storage of his mind, he finally smiled at Elrond. 'One mainly for you… '

_'A moth ate a word. To me it seemed,_

_A marvellous thing when I learned the wonder  
That a worm had swallowed, in darkness stolen, _

_The song of man, his glorious sayings,  
A great man's strength; and the thieving guest, _

_Was no whit the wiser for the words it ate._ '

There rose a whisper, and the High King seemed pleased. Elrond grinned. He had heard this particular one when he was younger, when it had functioned as a warning that too much knowledge was as hollow as too little. The original had been in Quenya, if he remembered correctly.

 

'A good translation into Sindarin, my Lord. A book-moth?'

 

Gil-galad smiled amusedly and shortly bowed in surrender.

 

'Your turn.'

 

Elrond nodded and took a moment. The fire flickered on his face when he spoke.

_A lonely wanderer, wounded with iron,_

_I am smitten with war-blades, sated with strife,  
Worn with the sword-edge; I have seen many battles,_

_Much hazardous fighting, oft without hope  
Of comforts or help in the carnage of war_

_Ere I perish and fall in the fighting of men.  
The leavings of hammers, the handiwork of smiths, _

_Batter and bite me, hard-edged and sharp;  
The brunt of the battle I am doomed to endure. _

_In all the folk-stead no leech could I find  
With wort or simple to heal my wounds; _

_But day and night with the deadly blows  
The marks of the war-blades double and deepen._

There was a silence for a moment. Elrond's voice had been quick and mystifying, choosing not one of the more shallow riddles they all knew, but one almost a poem, which he no doubt had learned at court, or during the countless other occasions he had spent around a fire exchanging such challenges. 

 

'Not a person…' Findor mused, hoping for a hint.

 

Elrond smiled as he warmed his hands by the fire, studying the faces of his fellow travellers, most of them younger than he. As his eyes met those of Gil-galad, he saw the High King was aware of the answer. Both of them waited, until Brin rose his hand.

 

'It's not a sword… A shield? It's a shield!'

 

Elrond grinned at the enthused answer, and slapped him lightly on the shoulder, as Brin sat forward in anticipation, ready for the next conundrum. 

 

The game went well into the night, until the watch was changed two hours after midnight. Accompanying Gil-galad, his hands behind his back, Elrond spoke softly.

 

'Will you trust me with your safety and sleep?'

 

Gil-galad felt weariness, after all those nearly restless nights and nodded.

 

'It never was a question of trust, my friend.'

 

Elrond concurred silently. Gil-galad caught his arm.

 

'Stop brooding over Eregion. It would not have made any difference had I been in your place. You did everything you could.' Deciding not to embrace him, what he would have liked, he patted Elrond's shoulder. 'I trust you.'

 

Elrond smiled sullenly and Gil-galad couldn't hold back, pulling the grown Elf close as if he was still the small boy he had found hiding behind the waterfall.

 

'You silly, brooding boy.'

 

Elrond couldn't resist smiling happily, before he was off to collect some of the grey blankets they had liberated from the enemy camp. 

Gil-galad spread one out underneath a tree before taking off his armour and boots. Stretching out on his belly, after folding his robe for better use as a pillow, he buried his head in his arms and pulled the other blanket over his back. 

 

When he woke, partly from the morning cold, the damp clouds of dew once more hanging over the plains, and to a certain extent because he had slept too long for his feeling, he found himself on his back.

 

It surprised him, because it was a position he rarely woke in when alone.

 

He leaned on his elbows and took up his surroundings, most of the men further removed from him, forming a circle. He momentarily wondered how it must be for them, being so close to a man they had only seen once or twice in their life, since most of them were not from Lindon and had only been assigned to him recently. 

 

Elrond gave him a nod as he discovered his awakening and indicated he was leaving him alone for a while, now that he was awake.

 

Malthon was waiting for him, with some hot water and bread when Gil-galad returned from a quick wander out of the camp. He sat back against the tree, and slowly started to eat. Malthon sat watching. Gil-galad glanced up at him.

 

'Tell me what happened to your force?'

 

Malthon swallowed as he relaxed.

 

'Most of them were killed, I think, I am not certain.'

 

'You were cut off.'

 

'We couldn't manoeuvre as you can now. We were too many. They had no trouble finding us.'

 

Gil-galad nodded and drank some of the hot water, in which some leaves had been boiled to give it taste.

 

'You were attacked.?'

 

'They knew exactly where we were.'

 

Gil-galad ate the last piece of bread and pulled his robes around his shoulders again, warming his hands on the cup. He said nothing.

 

Malthon shook his head.

 

'No one has told me, and I have not asked… But we are presently just as cut off as I was before, or am I sorely mistaken?'

 

'We were cut off, yes, and Elrond and I decided we could as well try and rescue you. It makes no difference in the end. We would have stayed isolated in any case.'

 

Malthon looked away in silence. It took long for him to speak again.

 

'She has never forgiven herself, Ereinion… However much she has tried to make you hurt, she experiences it back threefold.'

 

Gil-galad feared to meet the other Elf's eyes.

 

'Please, do not speak of this again, Malthon.'

 

Malthon's eyes flamed.

 

'How can I not speak of that which consumes my heart?'

 

Gil-galad rose and looked down on his kinsman from afar.

 

'Like I do. You keep it to yourself.' He walked two steps before turning. His eyes were dark. 'And do not come near me again.'

 

 

The travelling party stayed in the forested patch for over a week, with individual scouts riding out to explore the area. There had been maps in the enemy camp, but most were of more south-eastern areas, and of no use now. 

 

Despite that, Elrond seemed to have a fair notion of their position. Proving, once more, an uncanny ability to memorise maps and his astounding sense of direction. It was not the first time they found themselves in such a situation, though this one seemed more serious than any other had been previously.

 

Sacrificing the empty pages of his carefully kept journal, Elrond had showed Gil-galad what he believed to be their position, and the information brought back only added to his confidence. 

 

It was Brin, returning from a reconnaissance trip west that confirmed his suspicions. The young Elf was breathless as he and the High King peered over the shoulder of the Lord of Imladris, and pointing at the makeshift map that had been created on paper.

 

'An enemy force camps not three days from here…' He indicated its position, 'perhaps five-hundred men, maybe more. I was able to ride around them, and this road…' He pointed at a spot on the road Elrond had already drawn from memory. '…seemed unwatched.'.

 

'Good…' Elrond mumbled, adding the information to the plan before turning to Gil-galad. 'You wish to travel via the road?'

 

'We have to try.' Gil-galad returned, narrowing his eyes as he studied the sketch.  

 

Elrond tried to gather information from his face, but was not successful.

 

'We must assume that the grasp of the Dark Lord is slowly slipping from these parts, but that it has not entirely gone yet… If we are stopped, nothing must draw attention to us…'

 

'We will have to leave most of the heavy armour.' Gil-galad added, agreeing.

 

 

Brougham was sitting in his luxurious tent, overlooking the maps that had formerly been in Gil-galad's tent. 

 

Somehow he suspected that even if the Men had gotten hold of him or the Lord of Imladris, there would have been a message to confirm it, if only to spite them. The absence of such a communication made it crystal clear.

 

Either Gil-galad was dead, and simply not yet found, or he was alive, un-captured, somewhere between forces. And whichever was the case, it was fine by Brougham.

 

He had little power in Númenor at present… He had chosen sides, in early manhood, but with the death of his general, it had turned out to be the wrong one. Yet that had been many year ago. Later victories had brought him fame among his people, and his mistakes had been largely forgotten. 

 

He would never dare to stand against Elves, not openly at least. But now there were allies. If the High King was absent long enough, it would leave open an entire continent, ready for conquering. 

It was then that three of his men entered, quietly, and Brougham knew why they were here. There was only one way to hide what had been discussed privately between Brougham and those ready to rise up against Gil-galad.

'My Lord, we have gathered fifty men to form another search party.'

'Good,' Brougham nodded, extending his arm to the man. 'You know what to do when you find him?'

'Yes, my lord. It will be swift.'

Brougham watched them leave, and couldn't help a smile crawling over his face. It would be soon enough, he told himself. Patience is a virtue.

 

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Anar: the sun

 

The riddles are medieval and I got them from: Riddles from the Exeter Book, translated by Charles W. Kennedy


	4. The Hitting of the Mark...

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Gil-galad story, taking place after the destruction of Eregion.

I dedicate this chapter to ShinElrond, one of my favourite Elrond/Celebrían fic writers (and because I am probably doing to her fav elven king what she thought I was) <grin>

\----------------------

During the three-day ride to the road, Elrond did not seem particularly optimistic about their chances to keep a party of seventeen Elves and their horses hidden from attention. He reacted curtly on Findor's proposal on the second day, to keep off the roads. 

'We might be easier to distinguish on the road, but that does not mean we are a target. Staying off might be interpreted as unquestionably suspicious in the case of detection.' After that he had turned silent again, not speaking to a soul. 

The woods in these parts were depressing, dark and dense, the predominant colour a light brown, instead of the moist green they had left behind.

That evening he had sat by the fire the entire night, declining the requests to tell stories, or riddles, not speaking much altogether. 

Seeing the light of the fire reflect on faces, Gil-galad couldn't help dreaming away. Malthon's words had evidently struck some chord, deep down, for they kept echoing through his head. _However much she has hurt you, she experiences it back threefold…_ Would that work the other way round, Gil-galad wondered, had she experienced the happiness she had given him threefold back as well? If Gondolin had not fallen, if Turgon had not been betrayed by Maeglin… If he had not become High King… All would have been different, perhaps…

It was his own voice he heard, as eyes rested on him. Images as they had probably been, he could not be certain, appeared before him in the fire. Words came as by magic.

'… In the end, Fingon stood alone, his guard lying dead about him. And he battled the Lord of the Balrogs, who had slain Fëanor his uncle. Assailed by fire from behind, Gothmog hewed him with his black axe, and a white flame is said to have sprang up from Fingon's helmet as it was cloven…'

Gil-galad's face was pensive, and Elrond studied his face, not sure whether the High King was dreaming or awake.

'And there fell the High King of the Noldor…'

All were silent as Gil-galad seemed far away. None spoke for the remainder of the evening.

 

Upon reaching the road the following day, the clouds had begun to darken, and in no time at all, the heavens had opened; rain hammering down. It had quieted all in their company, cloaks and hoods drawn closely about them.

Except maybe Elrond. In his opinion, rain meant less travellers, narrowing the chance of detection. Subsequently, he was overall more enjoyable to be around, Gil-galad reflected, watching the Lord of Imladris refill his water flask by holding it out in the persisting downpour.

So for now, they were staying on the road.

They had followed this path for over a day now, not resting at night, speeding up during the morning, and returning to a footpace during the rest of the day. All the while, the rain was unrelenting.

It was close to sun-down that Elrond began to turn restless. Gil-galad noticed it as the son of Eärendil turned in his saddle for the second time in a short while. Reaching a bend in the road, Elrond turned towards him.

'Something is amiss…'

Gil-galad watched him turn his horse and slowly make his way to the rear of the group, where he seemed to exchange some words with Brin, still cautiously observing something in the distance behind them.

A message swiftly reached Gil-galad, as Elrond seemed unwilling to relinquish his place at the back.

'Lord Elrond lets you know he believes we are being followed. He wishes you to ride in the middle of the group, instead of the front.'

Gil-galad nodded and motioned his horse to slow, as those riding behind him did the opposite, admitting him in their midst. His horse picked up the pace of its companions, and Gil-galad turned towards one of his guard riding next to him.

'Tell Elrond from me that we shall pretend to rest in an hour, to see if they will pass us.'

He watched the message being orally passed back, hoping it would not arrive as distorted as those in a childhood game he had once played. 

Basically, one was to give a message, which would be relayed to another person and another, until it had gone around the circle, and was received back. It had taught him, so many years ago, that it was a flawed way of communicating important messages. But, of course, the smaller the amount of people going-between, the less the message was misshapen. Until now, there had only been one that had ever been allowed to carry such a message…

 

Elrond's voice was a hiss when he called to the others, riding from the back to the front, his eyes flashing something that made the High King uncomfortable. 

'Raise your hoods…' Then he looked directly at Gil-galad. 'Keep your face hidden, there are Elves… Not ours.'

For once in his life, Gil-galad regretted the dark hair and clear grey eyes, since it made the Noldor so easily recognisable. As the sound of hooves turned louder, Gil-galad stole a look from under his hood. The riders seemed to intently study the group. 

The Men were dark-haired, their eyes light. As he counted ten, Gil-galad considered Elrond had been mistaken; surely this were not Elves… 

Then they came, five of them, tall and lean, everything about them dark. Their faces were not visible, their hoods pulled far over their eyes, but Gil-galad recognised them anyway.

_Moriquendi…*_

Gil-galad glanced at Elrond, very aware he had known beforehand, recognising them even more quickly. But the Halfelven was not looking at him, as he rose his hand at the captain of the group. If anyone could speak to them and not be found out, it had to be Elrond. Just as elven-fair as the rest of them, Elrond had a strong side none of the others possessed. It was heritage, the strength of Men imbedded in his face, not in any way crude, but if anything, making him even more impressive. And more acceptable to the Men…

Gil-galad was careful not to look away when one of them looked straight at him, even giving back a smile. The High King knew that if he kept his gaze down, it would raise suspicion far quicker. The Dark Elves talked amongst themselves, apparently not interested in a company of wandering riders.

Nothing happened. They just rode on, not looking back. As they removed themselves, Elrond returned to the place alongside him again.

'I am relieved they did that.' His eyes still stayed on the rapidly disappearing group. 'Do you still want to stop in an hour?'

Gil-galad slowly shook his head.

'No, I'd rather we pick up the pace and leave the road.'

 

The unexpected arrow, penetrating Gil-galad at the shoulder, practically knocked him clear out of the saddle. As he hit the muddy road he uttered a smothered cry; the air being forced out of his lungs. Elrond's reaction came quick, as he lunged deeply in order to get a hold of Gil-galad's clothing; dragging him along, making sure he and his horse were positioned between his overlord and the archers.

As he did so, Findor and Brin were already making a semi-circular movement, to take out the archers, as several new arrows all hit inanimate objects. The rest of their group, having pulled their swords, were al busy either pursuing the remaining attackers, or forming a wall to protect Gil-galad from further injuries. 

Malthon's face was too pale for comfort, as he stretched his hand out to Gil-galad, who had been pulled onto his feet by Elrond, still seated on his horse. Elrond nonetheless would not release the High King's collar, the delicate clothing crumpling under his desperate grasp. His voice was urgent and louder than usual.

'We have to find a safe place where we can assess the damage.'

Gil-galad looked up at Elrond, the expression on his face grim.

'Assess the damage… Just get off that horse, in Elbereth's name, and first take this _thing_ out. I feel like I'm going to… Get it out and give me something to press against it.'

Elrond listened to brave words, with an even more deliberate undertone, as his eyes tried to judge his surroundings.

He was aware Gil-galad had seen other arrow wounds, and that the High King was consequently fully aware of the fact that it wasn't exactly that easy. 

First, you couldn't simply pull out the wooden shaft without causing more injury with the arrow's iron point. 

Second, not even Ereinion Gil-galad could merely hold a cloth to a wound and move on. But Elrond also understood that he could better be done with it now.

Having assured himself that they were reasonably covered by the riders and horses around them, he dismounted with a quick jump. Catching his Lord under the shoulders with both arms, Elrond guided him unto the ground. A quick inspection of where the arrow had met its mark made him smile feebly. 

'You're lucky,' he commented, trying to keep his tone light. 'This kind of shaft doesn't leave too many splinters.'

'Yes, our luck certainly seems to have stayed…' Gil-galad mumbled up at Elrond, who dared not meet his eyes now, and instead, carefully began to unbutton the High King's tunic. 

Then he looked up, searching and finding Jarin. 'Get my equipment from my saddlebag.' 

As Jarin scurried off, Elrond watched Gil-galad, his hand seizing Elrond's arm, eyes begging for more information. 

Elrond reluctantly turned away, instructing Jarin to bring him as clean a cloth as possible. When he looked up at Malthon, he noticed two Elves of their company had joined them. 

'Hold him, very very tightly.' Elrond implored, his eyes commanding.

Gil-galad's breath was uneasy when he spoke a puny warning.

'Just don't break it. We are a long way from home. And I'm not particularly looking forward to having you poke around for the arrowhead.' 

Trying to muster as comforting a smile as possible, Elrond nodded. 

Placing both his leather riding gloves around the shaft of the arrow, to give him more grip, their eyes met again.

'Are you sure you are ready?'

'Is there something else you feel I need to take care of first?' Gil-galad returned, his sense of irony becoming a shield for his anxiety. 

Gathering force with every muscle in his body Elrond made ready to pull the projectile from its embedded location, ready to ignore any stifled moans that would come from his patient. His eyes flashed to Jarin, who had returned and whose face was as pale as that of Malthon. 

'Have you got it?'

Not waiting for the answer to an unnecessary question, Elrond made a single wrenching movement, and felt the arrow leave its position. Grabbing the cloth from Jarin, he pulled Gil-galad's tunic away and pressed the material forcefully to the wound, which indeed bled as incessantly as he had suspected. He felt Gil-galad's hands clutching his arm.

'Is it out, Elrond?'

'It is, my Lord, it is…' Elrond replied, feeling the grip loosen; consciousness lost. He was relieved he had succeeded in removing the object without too much damage. But the possibility of poison worried him. He looked at the cloth under his pressurizing hand before meeting Jarin's eyes.

'You couldn't find anything else?'

Jarin seemed nervous as he looked at it.

'I didn't notice, my Lord, I…'

Elrond shook his head.

'It doesn't matter. Go and find something else…'

As Jarin sped towards his horse and rummaged through the saddlebags, Malthon looked at Elrond.

'What do we do now?'

Elrond narrowed his eyes, as he removed the cloth and inspected the wound before replacing it again. 

'We take him out of sight from the road, preferably as far removed from here as possible.'

'Then what?'

Elrond gave Malthon a piercing look, reproachful, distinctly recognisable as one of Gil-galad's.

'He rests, Lord Malthon, and we wait.'

Malthon was silent for a while, and watched Jarin hand Elrond a new cloth.

When the Lord of Imladris spoke, it was to no one in particular. 'Hand me that vial.' Meanwhile he moved his hand to Gil-galad's neck, feeling pulse and temperature simultaneously. Malthon handed him the cylindrical glass container, and watched him uncork it.

'It's better he is not conscious.' Elrond muttered under his breath, as he transferred some of the content unto the cloth. Exchanging one cloth for the other, he carefully but tightly dressed the wound. Hopefully it would hold for a short journey to… Anywhere but here… 

Malthon rested his hand on Elrond's shoulder. 

'How can you stay so cool?'

Elrond narrowed his brow, fastening the bandage and buttoning up Gil-galad's shirt again, which held a large bloody stain. 

'It does not help him if I panic.'

Brin joined the group surrounding the High King and looked at Elrond.

'We are ready…' He and four other Elves had constructed an improvised stretcher from two long branches and a blanket. 

Lifting Gil-galad's unconscious body onto it, Elrond was left on the forest floor, still holding the initial cloth Jarin had presented. Looking at it in his hand, both covered in blood, he shivered. One of the pennants he kept in his saddlebag.

'Once more, there is blood on the blue and silver banner…'

 

Glorfindel stood in the middle of the now deserted camp. This had been where all had gone wrong. Taking some strides, he observed the spot where over a week ago some of the arrows had still been sticking in the ground, when he had first come here. Arrows, but no Lords, not of Lindon, nor of Imladris…

Celeborn came towards him from the opposite part of the site. He halted before addressing the other.

'You have to make up your mind about this.'

Glorfindel nodded.

Either they would get on their horses and return to Imladris, and rely on others. Or, they would mount and ride into the forest, attempting to find what hundreds had not been able to locate.

'How could they have let them go?' He said, too grave for Celeborn's liking. He shook his head.

'No one can forbid Gil-galad to ride against the enemy. And if they do, he does not listen.'

Glorfindel's next question was more or less the same compared to the last time he asked, and Celeborn's answer was too.

'Are there search parties in the vicinity?'

'Yes, there still are. If they find anything, we will know it.'

Celeborn rallied a smile from deep inside.

'Imagine if they had succeeded. They would be celebrating and singing their heroic tales, the two of them… I believe we shall see that day, as soon as they have returned…'

Glorfindel breathed in deeply and let the air escape from his lungs.

'It will be an interesting story. One that I would love to hear…'

From afar they could distinguish the sound of horses approaching. If it had come from the other direction, perhaps the two Elves would have rushed out of sight within seconds. But these came from their own side. These were to be trusted.

Danhelm watched Glorfindel as he dismounted, Lord Brougham not far behind, insisting on coming with him.

Glorfindel came towards them with an expecting expression on his face.

'Any news?'

Danhelm shook his head, catching the hand Glorfindel offered, before casting down his eyes.

'I am afraid not, my Lord.'

Brougham stepped forward.

'We must, and I regret saying this, sincerely hoping I am wrong, consider the possibility that my Lord High King Gil-galad has been captured and killed.'

Celeborn watched Glorfindel, his eyes darkening. The remark had been overly polite, almost making it offensive. He shared Glorfindel's feelings concerning the matter, but would not allow his worries to lead his decisions. Under normal circumstances Glorfindel would not either. These were not normal circumstances.

'Bodies, Lord Brougham,' Glorfindel spoke, calming himself. 'The only way to convince me.' Turning from the two, walking over to where his horse waited, he left Celeborn who gave the Elf and the Númenórean a short nod. 

'I hope you bring news, next time we meet, Lord Danhelm. Good or bad.'

Celeborn followed Glorfindel, who had already mounted. Placing his foot in the stirrup, Celeborn swung over his other leg and once seated, spurred his horse, at the same moment Glorfindel did.

Watching them ride off, Brougham caught Danhelm's sleeve, a little too anxious for the Elf's liking.

'If the High King is dead, there must be a new one, that is how it always has been.'

Danhelm pulled his arm free, trying to stay respectful, and positioned his hands behind his back.

'If what you say would be true, that Gil-galad has indeed gone to Mandos… Assuming the Lord of Imladris is alive, he would be ruler.'

Brougham stepped closer, his voice only audible for the ears of Danhelm.

'With all respect to Lord Elrond, he is not entirely Noldor, halfelven even…  Would that be wise?'

Danhelm narrowed his eyes, suspiciously scrutinizing the Númenórean.

'With all respect to you, Lord Brougham, he might not be Noldor, but you are not an Elf. And moving fast is not always prudent. It is not our way.'

Danhelm stayed as Brougham left, his eyes following the horse and rider long after they had disappeared from sight.

 

Only after arriving back at the main encampment, having entered his own tent, Brougham caught the sound of hooves outside, stopping at the front. This had to be news, or they wouldn't be in such a hurry. He rose from the chair he had taken and moved to the entrance of the tent.

One of the men who had gone out over a week ago.

Brougham could read the news from his face, but motioned the man into the tent anyway. His eyes lighted up.

'You got him? How did it happen?'

The man was straight away infected with his master's enthusiasm.

'Our comrades spotted him and over a dozen others on the eastern road. They hit him splendidly, right out of the saddle. Sadly, the archers as well as the riders were all killed or captured. Only the one that brought the message escaped.'

Brougham's eyes grew large for a moment.

'But you are sure he is really dead?'

A grin crept across a thin pair of lips.

'They used poison, sir. Even if they had only scraped him, he would have felt the effects.'

Brougham sat down and folded his hands.

'I will wait a couple of days, and then I will travel to Imladris. You solemnly assure me he is dead?'

'I have great trust in it, sir.'

The light in Brougham's eyes faded for a moment.

'And what of Lord Elrond?'

The man shrugged, his wet hair moving in the process.

'I heard nothing about him, sir. He might not even be with them.'

'Very well.' Brougham replied, waving him away. 'Go get some rest, you've deserved it. But ask your men to try and find a body.'

The man bowed deeply prior to exiting the tent.

 

A whisper, ever so convenient at this time of emptiness, came into his mind… 

_What is it you remember?_

 

I remember the singing of the mourners… Those of my grandfather…

_I thought the Elves did not sing of it…_

 

Others do…

 

He wounded Morgoth seven times, each time rewarded with a cry of pain, echoing through the Northlands. It made the men of the Enemy shake in terror.

 

But perhaps he forgot the power of The Black Enemy…

 

Thrice down, and up again… But then finally stumbling, yet giving one last crippling strike, as his neck was broken… Thorondor saved his body… Turgon built the shrine…

_Your father sent you to the havens…_

 

A vision of a small Elf-child, his dark hair tucked behind the ears, emerged from the void. Its dark eyes piercingly observed someone approaching. 

 

'Ereinion!' It sounded again.

 

The child turned and ignored it, apparently still much offended.

 

Well aware he was too young, even before it had been repeated many times. By his father, his uncle, even his mother. But his mother's objections were to be expected, somehow of a different nature. She didn't want him to go anywhere that took him away from her.

 

He whispered to the waves before him.

 

'Nan ni mer-lá tulë…*' 

_And what of your father…?_

 

If successful, one who acts courageously without the council of others is quickly seen as a brave man, if he fails, he is branded a fool…

_Yes… What of the Nirnaeth Arnoediad?*_

 

Even after death, they pounded the Valiant* into the dust with their maces, the blue and silver forever mired in his blood…

_You feel anger?_

 

I do not know…

_Tell me of the one so closely guarded in your heart…_

 

His father was my uncle's grandson… I knew his mother well… My years did not yet cover a century when I heard of his birth, and rejoiced in it… But I knew him not back then…

_Tis not the one I meant, but continue…_

 

I heard of his capture and that of his brother, the tragedy of their mother… I vowed to find both of them… When I did, I vowed to protect, and I never broke any of those…

_Why such responsibility?_

 

Perhaps I saw myself in him… He was as I had been as a child; old too early, beyond his years… He gave me something of what I had lost so long ago… I loved him greatly… I do still. He is one of those that shall stay until the end, I know it… He will know more of the marring in Arda than any other…

 

I taught him all I know… I taught him well. He possesses all of me I wish to see brought forth into the world. He is my heir… He has good judgement, wisdom and strength… Compassion and love…

_Tis good you know this… But tell me of the other…_

I know not of whom you speak…

_Oh, but you do… Tell me of her…_

 

*~^*~^*~^*~^*~^*~^*~^*~^*~^*~^*~^*~^*~^*~^*~^*~^*~^*~^

Gil-galad's story of the death of Fingon has been slightly rephrased, but most of it comes directly from the Silmarillion. 

Moriquendi: literally: Elves of the Darkness, those who had never seen the Light of the Trees. It is said they were therefore more susceptible to side with the Enemy

'Nan ni mer-lá tulë…': Quenya, 'But I did not wish to come…' 

 

_Nirnaeth Arnoediad:_ War of the Unnumbered Tears

_the Valiant:_ nickname of Fingon

*~^*~^*~^*~^*~^*~^*~^*~^*~^*~^*~^*~^*~^*~^*~^*~^*~^*~^

 (I hereby lay claim on little Ereinion, because I love the way he tucks his hair behind his ears… aaaw, please? Can I?)


	5. Fevered Dreams...?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Gil-galad story, taking place after the destruction of Eregion.

The grief was so new to me, after my father died… Strange really, it amazes me still, how one can love a person that has only entered your life a couple of times, so much… He might not have been there often, but he was a good father when he was…

 

The tale used to make me shiver, the banner in the blood, and such. Not so now. I have witnessed too much reality, I suppose, to be romantic about anything in Middle-earth anymore.

 

We were forced to the sea when Morgoth sent his forces to ravage the Falas. Círdan was the one who proposed sailing to the Isle of Balar, and there we founded a refuge, able to keep our foothold at the Mouths of Sirion.

 

I recall the masts of the numerous small ships that lay in Sirion's waters, and I do not believe I shall ever forget it… She is so closely connected to that image, like a certain fragrance can link to the memory of an event… And yet she was just one of the many Noldorin ladies.

 

Had she known at that time who I was, she might have acted differently. Either she would have pushed me away, or drawn me even closer… Though I doubt that possible… At that time we did not speak of betrothing ourselves… Which was not exceptional… But I dreamed of her, only to wake and find her in my arms, trusting me with her life, possibly her honour… Fiery eyes in passion and anger, in love and hate, both of which lie so close now… The best kept secret in Middle-earth, perhaps.

 

But then Gondolin fell, and the tidings reached Balar, where I resided at that time. I could not return to her as I wished, before I was named High King of the Noldor in Middle-earth. I was not able to tell her personally…

 

I saw her once, afterwards, and I knew she was angry with me for not telling her the truth, that I was Ereinion, son of Fingon, nephew of Turgon, and not just Gil-galad. But there was not enough time to speak, then. And I was careless, assuming we had all the time in the world.

 

When the call came, the plea for help from Sirion, it was too late… All had gone, all that I had vowed to protect.

She was gone, like all of them, most likely to Mandos…

 

In my despair, I took to the seas once more, and it was then that Eärendil called to me, from his ship, Elwing, as by miracle, at his side. It was she that asked it of me, and I considered it a burden, at that stage.

_Seek my sons, and take care of them, Ereinion._

 

Still, I made it my mission, to find Elrond and Elros… Because I could not let it happen again…

 

Malthon was the son of one of my father's squires, and therefore had logically been made a part of my following. I grew up with him, and at that time I considered him as close a friend as I had known until then.

 

He knew she and I had been lovers, and she knew he was my friend.

 

I never inquired, so I do not wish to speculate on how he found her, when all the while I mourned her death. When he returned from a long errand, he took her with him, and he stood before me and informed me of their bond. I laughed at him, to his face, amused he thought he could spite me by doing so. 

 

I mourned it privately.

 

But he loved her, he loves her now… He despises me for treating her as I did… He would not believe me when I tried to tell him what I intended... 

 

And now, his punishment is that she does not return his devotion. Her penalty is living with the knowledge she could have been mine. My chastisement is realising she loved me, and squandering it. 

 

Now let me ask you, in what name do you ask these questions?

_It is an interesting subject, yet, my name is of no importance now._

 

I have learned it is not wise to hide one's name…

_There is a risk that comes with knowing my name… And you are not to take it yet. It is not your choice, nor mine… Indeed, if it had been mine alone, you would not have been here at all…_

 

I do not understand.

_If you would learn my name now, you would not be allowed to return. And in many ways you have not finished yet… The intentions of Ilúvatar are unfathomable, for you, and for me…_

 

So, I am to return?

_It seems so…_

 

Softly the voice trailed of, disappearing as if it had never been, as if it had been an echo in the void… Yet there can be no echo in a void… It was as if he was being drawn back; nothingness making room for an emerging world…

**~*~*~*~**

 

He ran through the forest, only half-heartedly attempting to evade the lower branches of the pine trees that stood in his way. Most of them broke as soon as they touched him, brittle and dry as they were. It was not his intention to stay away from the campsite, not too long anyway, but he had to lose the apprehension within him, for it was clouding his senses, and this seemed the only way to rid himself of it.

 

He felt his heart-beat, quicker than usual, but nicely consistent with his tread, as he passed under a branch. A thread of spider webbing tickled across his face and slightly startled, he tried to sweep it away.

 

Closing his eyes for only a moment, making a movement with his arm that would have appeared strange if anyone had observed him doing it, Elrond met his branch. It hit him at chest-height and made him tumble into the humid carpeting of brown leaves. The smell of leaves became too persistent for his liking.

 

A bit dazed he sat up, angry with his own blunder. 

 

For a moment he contemplated taking out his rage on the tree, but discarded the notion even quicker. It was his own stupid mistake. All of it.

 

He should have ordered the group off the road as soon as he had noticed their followers, he should not have ridden up to Gil-galad before they were entirely out of sight… 

 

Yet if he hadn't, he would not have been there in time when…

 

Elrond threw back his head and took a deep breath. With a quick movement, coming more from habit than being an actual attempt to remove the pieces of leaf from his hair, he scrambled unto his feet. The rain had started again.

 

 

Malthon sat under the canvas makeshift tent, elbows on his knees, watching the dreary weather just outside. He was barely out of reach of the raindrops that leaked from a hole in the covering. A hole he had tried to plug for three days now, all attempts unsuccessful.

 

They had ridden for two hours, deep into the forest, before Elrond had given the signal to set up camp. This tent, in which he now sat, had been ready within minutes, Gil-galad inside almost as soon. Malthon had watched Elrond, his fingers flying between the medicines and his patient, never wavering, never tiring. He had marvelled at how much the Halfelven had matured since he had last seen him. They had only met once or twice, but the last time, Elrond had not been older than five centuries. Some wisdom does appear to come with age…

 

He glimpsed over his shoulder, to the motionless body lying deeper inside.

 

Even Malthon had to admit he was, and had been worried. But how he could feel so many different emotions, concerning one person, was still a mystery to him. There was a part of him that admired Ereinion, almost as much as the young Lord of Imladris did. A charismatic personality, possessive of both his father's bravery as well as his mother's patience, made it almost obligatory. Besides that, Gil-galad was his Lord, and Malthon would give his life to protect him. 

 

Yet, another part, an equally large part, felt loathing, jealousy… How easy would it be if the High King would not survive? How much stability would return to Malthon's personal life?

 

Elrond came running, and shot under the roof, a little short of breath. His eyes shot towards Gil-galad, and entered further. 

 

'I wish this rain would stop.' Malthon mumbled, staring into the dreary woods, his mind apparently somewhere else. 

 

Elrond sat down beside the stretcher and began rummaging through his medical supplies, which were running precariously low. He had confiscated anything useable from the others, including every clean cloth, even the smallest patch. Anything he could use…

 

He had watched Gil-galad go through the stages of the fever, as the poisoned substance had begun its attack on the nervous system. Throughout the difficult respiration, rapid heartbeat and high temperature, Elrond had tried what he could, which had been little, but enough. 

 

Yet his greatest fears had surfaced during the seizures, when he had not been at ease at all with the likeliness of spinal damage. He had stood by, like the masters of healing had long ago taught him, while personally, every vein in his body wished to help. But they had been short, and he had thanked the stars for it.

 

More worries had gone through his head the following days; damage to blood vessels, extensive internal haemorrhaging, permanent damage to the immune system… But those had all gone now.

 

Somehow the poison had been neutralized, but during the many hours at Gil-galad's bedside, Elrond realised it had not been due to his healing skills. 

 

He had tried to explain it to Jarin, who had spent most of the days at his side, watching his every move, running his errands if necessary.

 

'They were required to hit him more than once. A single hit would likely not have killed, it was not supposed to. They expected to strike several times, but did not succeed. The poison was not able to accumulate, and if we are lucky, it will soon be making it's way out of the body.'

 

The only remaining worry he had was dehydration.

 

Elrond was surprised to find upon reflection, that there had never been a single instant when he had feared Gil-galad would die. At the moments when he had cause to do so, he had been too busy, and during the moments of waiting and watching, he had never doubted all would be well. It was his opinion Gil-galad was to regain his consciousness soon.

 

Giving the pressure-bandage a thorough assessment, he judged it satisfactory, and joined Malthon, who offered him the last of the wine and some waybread. He declined both.

 

'Do you suppose we shall ever leave this place?' Malthon pondered, storing the nourishments for later usage.

 

Elrond shrugged as he pulled on his cloak, his moist clothing making him shiver. Then he collected his journal from one of the pockets, and opened it, studying the drawings inside.

 

'It is not my intention to remain here for long. Seeing we are closing in on our own troops.' He followed the remaining space with his finger.

 

Malthon pointed his thumb towards Gil-galad.

 

'When shall he be able to ride?'

 

Elrond's eyes narrowed, as he rested his elbows on his knees.

 

'If we were in Lindon, or Imladris, I would say at least two weeks… After he wakes. But I suspect we are searched for already. And not by people we wish to be found by. If we take him on the stretcher, we will go slower, and be detected sooner.' Elrond sighed. 'Even though every logical part of me says I shouldn't, I'd let him ride as soon as he is able, accepting the risk of the wound re-opening.'

 

There was a long silence between the two Elves. Elrond raised his hand at Findor, who had been left in charge of securing the vicinity. The Elf did not near them, simply went on into the woods, reading no changes in the High King's situation from the faces of his superiors.

 

'Were those Dark Elves, we encountered on the road?' Malthon asked, studying Elrond's profile, amazed by the likeness to that of the High King.

 

'Yes,' Elrond mused. 'Avari, by the look of them…'

 

Malthon frowned.

 

'I thought they kept away from either side?'

 

Elrond shook his head.

 

'Not all… If they are offered the right price…'

 

Both of them were startled as Gil-galad grunted softly.

 

'I can hear the blood pumping through my head, so that would indicate I'm not dead yet.'

 

Elrond was quicker than Malthon, up and away, as soon as the voice sounded.

 

'Not yet,' He replied, pushing Gil-galad back, forbidding him to rise. 'But if you do not stay calm now, it might not take too long.'

 

Malthon also came nearer, not able to look Gil-galad in the eye.

 

'I'll be outside.'

 

Gil-galad's eyes followed Malthon leaving the tent, before he turned back to Elrond, saying nothing. Elrond meanwhile folded a blanket, which was to function as a makeshift pillow, and placed it under the High King's head. Then he sat down beside the stretcher, collecting a water flask and offered it to Gil-galad. 

 

'How do you feel?'

 

His patient grimaced, sipping the water, his eyes closing for a moment.

 

'How do you think I feel?'

 

Elrond flashed a smile.

 

'Not too good, I would guess.'

 

'You are going to make me say it, aren't you?' Gil-galad groaned, trying to shift a little, but returning to a his earlier position as the pain shot through his body.

 

Elrond caught his wrist and took a moment.

 

'Your pulse is still fast, temperature seems better than before… Nausea?'

 

Gil-galad nodded.

 

'And pain in parts of my body I was not aware of having.'

 

Elrond grinned.

 

'You fell off a horse. That is what hurts. Oh, and the arrow of course…'

 

Gil-galad collected enough force to raise his hand towards Elrond, playfully slapping him against the shoulder before letting the limb fall back. He was silent for a moment.

 

'There was poison?'

 

'Hmm, yes.' Elrond nodded, pointing at the other arm. 'Can you move it?'

 

Gil-galad tilted his head.

 

'I'll try if you help me sit up.'

 

'No.'

 

'Then I won't try.'

 

'Very well, don't.'

 

The High King chuckled shortly, which turned into a coughing fit. He mastered it quickly, and weakly smiled.

 

'I do appreciate your presence, Elrond.'

 

The Lord of Imladris pursed his lips.

 

'And I appreciate yours, my Lord. Now try and raise that arm.'

 

Gruntingly Gil-galad gave in and flinched while attempting to reposition his shoulder joint. Elrond unrelentingly caught the arm and forced it as far as possible, receiving a waterfall of protest. Gil-galad's eyes were accusing.

 

'Is it your intention to torture me to death?'

 

Elrond shook his head, almost seriously denying the statement, as he continued his examination.

 

'I could not allow you to die… I wouldn't make a good ruler.'

 

The expression on Gil-galad's face changed, and he smiled broadly.

 

'I beg to differ… But help me up, we need to leave. I solemnly pledge I shall follow your dictation concerning what is best for my health upon reaching safer grounds.'

 

Elrond reluctantly offered his hand to help the High King rise.

 

'I fear that is an empty promise, my Lord.'

 

He watched Gil-galad flinch again as too much weight was placed on his wounded arm. But the Elf-lord persisted, flinging both legs over the side of the stretcher. For a moment a blackness came before Gil-galad's eyes, and he shrank. Taking a deep breath, closing his eyes, he waited for it to slowly pass.

 

Elrond shook his head, whispering. 

 

'You cannot ride like this, my Lord.'

 

Gil-galad's eyes turned to a stare.

 

'I will rather die on my horse than here in this dark place.'

 

 

Glorfindel sat in the saddle, on the road back to Imladris, while all within him was screaming for him to turn back. Celeborn observed him, his piercing eyes every once in a while returning, questioning.

 

Lord Brougham had started his journey to Imladris two days earlier, and only because of that, were they now starting as well. Glorfindel did not trust the Man, and was certain part of Celeborn did not either. There was no reason to distrust Danhelm, who travelled along with the Man. But Imladris did not yet know of the disappearance of its Lord, and Glorfindel was adamant that this remain so, at least for now.

 

They were there, he mused, unwilling to accept neither of his friends had survived. Firmly believing that at least _one_ of them, and possibly both, still had to be in those woods.

 

*~^*~^*~^*~^*~^*~^*~^*~^*~^*~^*~^*~^*~^*~^*~^*~^*~^*~^

 

Some of the Avari, it is said, were corrupted by Morgoth in ancient days to become the progenitors of the race of orcs. (source: Encyclopedia of Arda: also known as 'Paradise')


	6. Between Mandos and Pain

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Gil-galad story, taking place after the destruction of Eregion.

His voice was as it had always been, good-humoured and resonating, pleasant to listen to, as Elrond had gotten to know it when he was younger, listening to the many fire-side stories the High King had told him and his brother.

'Is it not logical they hate us so, Elrond? We have been blamed for Morgoth's return before…'

Elrond watched Gil-galad, on his horse, only using one arm to hold the reigns, the other hanging suspended in a sling from his neck. He was speaking, not caring if someone listened. Elrond knew most people listened; it was something that one just had to do, the voice made it obligatory.

'… and in essence, we are Moriquendi too…'

'For the sake of the argument, let's say that at least our ancestors have seen the light of the trees.' Elrond returned, amused, as meanwhile, for the first time in days, the sun broke through the clouds and the roof of leaves above them.

'I'd give you that, but you understand what I mean.'

Elrond smiled. Gil-galad had been in a reflective mood ever since they had ridden out. Often, if that was the case, he simply wanted to talk, not necessarily discuss.

'I understand. Will you please calm down now?'

Gil-galad rolled his eyes.

'I have to move, or do you have some other means of transporting me?'

'I was speaking of your tongue, my Lord.' the Lord of Imladris teased, receiving a deadly look from the Elf-lord on the other horse.

'Perhaps _you_ are at liberty to tell me who you suspect of sending those Elves after us,' sounded the gruff reply, as Gil-galad hunched his back. Elrond pretended not to notice a short flinch, as the High King discovered it was not a very comfortable way of sitting, since it put more strain on his injured shoulder.

'I'm not sure… It depends on who knows we are here. Concurring with our earlier suspicions of betrayal, we have to consider someone in our own ranks is involved.'

A sharp whistle made Elrond jerk towards the sound. His heart jumped in surprise and fear, but he kept his composure, signalling for the others, who were riding a little removed from them, barely in sight, to stop. All stood motionless, waiting. When a more urgent second call came, and faraway sounds of horses, Elrond looked at Gil-galad.

'Pray to Elbereth you can ride fast…'

Without reconsidering for more than a split second, Gil-galad pulled his arm out of the sling, mumbled a curse of pain under his breath and spurred his horse, riding into the opposite direction of the earlier sounds.

Elrond moved, but slower, waiting for someone to catch up and inform him of what had happened. Findor was the first to come, with two of the others. He could read their eyes, he could judge from their body language, but still he asked.

'What?' He demanded sharply, as his horse moved under him, no doubt feeling it's masters anxiety all too well.

'They are following, hunting us, my Lord. I think they know we are here,' came the wavering answer. Only Findor slowed, as the others went after their High King. Elrond gave him a questioning nod of the head.

'Who? And which of you saw anything?'

'I don't know, Brin was the one who noticed them, my Lord… I whistled and rode on as he went towards them, trying to hold them back, together with three others… They have not returned.'

Elrond ignored any emotion that emanated from the other Elf's voice.

'Ride on speedily, and remember, your duty is to protect your King.'

As he watched Findor disappear, he hesitated. To stay or to go… Before he could truly make up his mind, another horse cleared the trees and came towards him, and in reaction Elrond pulled his sword out of the scabbard, which was hidden under his cloak. Just in time he recognised Malthon.

'Ride on, unless you wish to turn target, and know that if you stay, their lives were sacrificed in vain.'

The words were cool, but made sense, and Elrond re-sheathed his sword before following, rapidly, forcing his horse faster than ever before, or so it felt.

 

The woods Gil-galad had entered were in actuality a little too dense for a full-grown Elf on horse to ride through, especially one that did not have full control of his entire body, and a hard time managing the animal beneath him. The undergrowth worried him immensely, but so far, the horse seemed to have no trouble and daintily made its way without stumbling.

He had his right arm clasped tightly against his body, desperately trying to keep it still, but the struggle seemed lost beforehand, as one flash of pain after another ricocheted through his body, making him light-headed.

There were horses behind him, beside him even, but he could not see, only hear.

He prayed Elrond was near, and that those horses belonged to his own people.

The fever that still lingered in his body had emerged again, and he realised why Elrond had been so worried before. Blackness slowly began to creep before his eyes, and he knew there was going to be a moment when he would no longer be in control, and that such a moment would probably mean he was going to fall.

Slowly speaking to himself, desperately trying to keep his mind and body one, he rode on, wrapping the reigns around the hand and elbow of his left arm, hoping it would keep him from falling off the horse upon loosing consciousness, pleading to anyone who might be listening, to not let it come to that.

The feeling was peaceful, when it came, and curiously enough, he was not afraid to give into it… So serene…

 

'No, you don't,' came an answer from his left, and he felt a strong hand catch his arm, the horse slowing down. He wasn't able to recognise the voice, nothing at all, really, as he simply gave in.

Waking on the ground, nauseous once more, he felt even worse than he had before.

'How long was I out…?' he mumbled to the person who sat next to him, feeling a hand check his pulse.

'Only a few seconds, can you sit up?'

Before he could answer, an arm was already helping him rise. He somehow recognised the calm but firm remedies of before.

'Elrond…'

The Lord of Imladris was not listening.

'Head between your legs and breathe in through the nose, out through the mouth.'

Gil-galad followed the instructions, but was all too aware of their situation. 

'We have to go.' He whispered, suddenly feeling weighed down.

'And have you break your neck by falling off a horse? Forget it.' Elrond returned, momentarily pulling Gil-galad back to check on the wound. 'Besides,' he said softly, pointing at the front of the tunic. 'You are bleeding again.'

Gil-galad swallowed with heavily, uneasy.

'I thought you stitched it?'

'It can be fluid from the wound…' Elrond whispered and rested a hand on Gil-galad's other shoulder. 'It will be fine…'

Underneath, it was the first time he truthfully panicked, and he suspected it was because he had just almost seen Gil-galad fall to an early grave. 

That, and the fact that people sought them, people whose intentions were nowhere near… good. He did not want to be here, he wanted out, to be back in Imladris, or Lindon, where he could sit and read, and forget.

But this was not the time to fall apart. And he flatly refused to let it happen. 

Gil-galad's hyperventilating returned his attention to his patient.

'Who are still with us?' he could hear him ask with great difficulty.

Letting his eyes scrutinize the area once again, Elrond tried not to sigh.

'We seem to have lost most of the men in the woods…' 

He was uncertain if he had truly meant to phrase it like that. Not separating between those who were dead, and those who were not…

'…Malthon is here, as are Findor and two of Malthon's men.'

'We cannot stay here…' Gil-galad pleaded, trying to convince Elrond. 

Elrond shook his head.

'If someone comes near us, we will be able to see them come here… We shall stay for a while.'

Gil-galad began to distinguish their surroundings slowly. The branches were indeed near impenetrable and near to the ground. He doubted a grown man could walk through them without hunching, and assumed it was impossible to come near unobserved. He wondered how he arrived here in the first place.

'Where are the others?' he whispered, aware of the silence around them, no birds, no insects, naught.

'Not twenty strides removed, in a circle around us,' was the whispered reply.

'Can four men be a circle?' Gil-galad queried softly, in an attempt at humour.

Elrond smiled.

'Apparently…'

They sat quietly for a long time, and the longer the silence lasted, the more their hope grew and peace returned. Elrond heard Gil-galad's breathing slow down, returning back to normal.

'How close are we to somewhere safe?' Gil-galad asked, his eyes resting on Elrond, who was still as watchful as a hawk. 'Can we not scale the trees?'

'I suspect we are close to the road to Imladris… But all in all, likely nearer to the larger encampment of the troops, than to the Valley… And as for scaling trees, they are too thin here, the branches too brittle. And I would not wish to be discovered, with no way to move to the next.' Elrond returned

A sharp whistle, once more, before voices and the breaking of the dry twitches that littered the forest floor drifted and echoed among the trees.

_On foot or on horse?_ Elrond wondered, listening intently, and decided on both. 

Should they go, and have at least some time to create a distance between them and their pursuers? While doing so could risk drawing attention to something which might been left hidden? Then again, if they stayed, and were discovered, they would have to confront those in the woods, without a doubt…

But he could hardly drag Gil-galad with him…

A small pineapple hit his back and he turned to find Findor, not far removed.

'Something is nearing from the other side,' he mouthed, and Elrond, paying close attention, could indeed hear it too. 'We are surrounded.' He whispered, feeling Gil-galad catching his sleeve.

_If I have to make a choice between Mandos and pain, hand me a sword…_

 

With a scream the first person came crashing through the brush and Elrond blocked the raised sword with his own, forcing the assailant down with his shoulder, smashing an iron fist into the stomach, ready for the next as the man fell to the forest floor, cringing.

When the first horse barged into the small clearing where they now stood, Elrond was preoccupied with three attackers, keeping his eye on Gil-galad, who stood his ground, nevertheless clasping his arm against his side, severely limiting any movement. 

Observing the animal and rider moving towards the High King, Elrond punched his fist into one of the men's faces, evading the attack of the second and immediately thrusting his sword into the shoulder of the third, before running towards the horse to pull the rider out of the saddle.

Using his body-weight, having done this often before, both teasing fellow riders as well as in actual battle, he stepped aside to let the man drop to the ground. He could imagine the man's pain, since he had fallen off horses higher than this present one countless times when younger. But he hid any feelings of pity as he looked down at the man, not intending to inflict a mortal wound, merely making sure he was incapacitated.

A dull blow to the back of his skull made him sink to his knees, and from far away he could hear a scream, Gil-galad's voice, slowly fading away.

'No!' Forgetting his pain, his fever, tiredness and anything else in the world, Gil-galad jumped forward, flooring two foes at once and making his way towards Elrond, who was still on his knees, but far from well.

Slinging his bodyweight against the other horse he took down the rider and spun around, catching the front of Elrond's tunic from behind, turning and pulling him onto his feet.

'Tell me you are well!' he yelled at Elrond, as he shook him by the front of his clothing, watching Malthon join them, somewhere hearing a call in Sindarin, which he thought might belong to Findor.

The Halfelven was pale, his eyes shooting to and fro, as yet conscious. Knees buckling once more caught Gil-galad's attention, distracting him momentarily.

A blow against his painful shoulder made Gil-galad collapse, and, releasing Elrond, who sank to the ground, he was only barely able to break his fall and roll onto his back, before a foot was placed upon the wound, and the not inconsiderable weight of a man pressed upon it. The tip of a blade was placed just above his collar-bone, and Gil-galad knew, that if the weight was placed on the sword, he would be on his way to Mandos for certain.

'So finally we have caught up with you, _my Lord_ ,' the sneering question was posed. Gil-galad growled in pain and rage, his eyes furious, grey turned near black.

'You go to Mandos…'

With an attempt to kick at the Man's legs, the tip of the blade was pressed down harder, and Gil-galad panicked, the sound of blood running audibly through his ears. He was not ready, did not wish to trade in his life now… 

But suddenly a scream, and the pressure was gone, making Gil-galad sit up dizzily, tears of the short stabbing pain brimming in his eyes, needing a second to regain his surroundings, before seeing an Elf standing over the assailant of before, swords pointed at each other.

'Ereinion, get up and help Elrond…' Malthon said, his eyes never leaving his captive. 

Scrambling to his feet, making his way towards Elrond, he quickly walked past Malthon.

The sound of the arrow only reached his ears after it had hit its target.


	7. Pride

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Gil-galad story, taking place after the destruction of Eregion.

As an Elvish curse was uttered, Gil-galad instinctively made to evade any additional arrows, lowering himself close to the ground, but found himself turning back towards Malthon again. 

He watched the other Elf, and for a moment it seemed as if the impact of the projectile had not affected Malthon in the least. Perhaps it was because Gil-galad had only seen it in a flash, his view now blocked by Malthon's body.

_Perchance it is a dream, and I merely have to wake from it…_

And yet the pounding pain in his own shoulder did not support that likelihood. Not in the least…

Kicking the sword of his captive, which was still pointed at his chest, away, Malthon remorselessly pressed the blade of his sword into the Man beneath him. Oddly enough, it made Gil-galad nauseous, though he had seen such things happen, even executed the action himself many times before. 

At the same time, it was anger that soared up inside him, adding to that which still lingered from being taken hostage, though only for a short while; his adrenaline increasing all his emotions beyond reason. 

His gaze flashing to Malthon's pale face, he was surprised to find the eyes remarkably steady and serious. Then he watched Malthon clasp at the spot where the arrow had entered his body, and Gil-galad could finally see it; on the right side of the chest, no doubt having pierced the rib cage judging by how deep the arrow seemed to be embedded within the flesh.

Placing his strongest arm over the other Elf's shoulder and across the chest underneath the other arm, a hold he had learned was the quickest and least painful way to transport one wounded in such a way, Gil-galad dragged Malthon to where Elrond was lying still.

'Can you move?' he urgently bit towards Malthon, who seemed steadier on his feet than the High King himself.

'If you release me,' the reply came, and, making certain the other was balanced, Gil-galad complied.

Looking over his shoulder, there was a moment when he wondered why the archer was not following, but, taking some quick steps, he grabbed the reigns of the nearby horse, and brought it closer to where both Elrond and Malthon now were. 

Bending down, he caught Elrond's arm and used it to lift his friend's body over his uninjured shoulder. He nearly dropped it back because of his own pain, but nevertheless succeeded in standing upright, somehow managing to position Elrond's limp form across the horse's saddle.

Extending his injured arm to Malthon, who indicated with a short shake of the head he was able to do without, Gil-galad led the horse away, listening for suspicious sounds, as well as Malthon's ragged breath, not more than one or two of steps behind.

Swallowing back tears, he realised it had happened. The feeling he had dreaded to return ever since he had last felt it, all too well remembering how close he had been to forfeiting his life, that emotion had returned.

It was a strange, ominous feeling, both bringing emotion, as well as numbness.

On the one hand he cared, for Elrond, for Malthon, for all their travel companions who were now somewhere in this forest, dead or alive, but on the other, he had little hope left.

It was as if he relived the moment when word had arrived of his father's death. He had watched his mother break out in tears, tearing at her clothing, not coherently speaking for days. And while she had shown all those signs of mourning, he had been silent. 

At least he could find tears now, he thought, moving his painful shoulder more than was absolutely necessary, as if to punish himself for his present predicament. For _their_ present predicament.

Was it not his pride, he contemplated, that had led them here, that disaster-prone inbred Noldorin superiority that was likely to be the cause of their deaths now? 

Would they ever leave these woods alive? 

He was not certain of it anymore. 

But he would fight for them, he promised, both himself and the others. 

He would not die without a fight.

_I am truly sorry, Elrond. If it comes to pass, forgive me when we meet in Mandos, most treasured friend…_

_Malthon, all the hurt we shared between us shall make it difficult to judge whom inflicted more upon whom. If it be so, let Mandos judge…_

'Ereinion…'

He turned to see Malthon slump.

'You must go on without me…'

He answered with a firm shake of the head, his breath catching in his throat.

'Don't do this to me now… For Elbereth's sake, Malthon, do not leave me now, for I shall surely loose the little hope I have left.'

Releasing the horse, he stumbled over to where Malthon had near-collapsed and forcefully lifted him unto his feet again, attempting to guide him to the horse.

'Can you hold Elrond in front of you?'

Malthon swallowed slowly.

'Why can't you just leave me?'

'Because you are the only good reason for us being in this mess. The explanation is an entirely selfish one.' Gil-galad snapped back angrily.

Malthon raised a soothing hand to the other's face, and tired eyes met the High King's.

'I am loosing too much blood… Even if you would succeed in removing the arrow, I would not be able to travel.'

Gil-galad shook his head and caught the hand that had just been lifted to his face.

'I cannot leave you… I would not be able to live with myself… And Alian would never forgive me for it, where I can still hope she will some day forgive me for all the other things.'

The eyes of the other Elf grew large and dark upon the mention of the Elf-lady's name.

'You conceited sod.' Malthon mocked, clasping at his side, walking away, leaving Gil-galad somewhat taken aback. He watched the other Elf stop and turn. 

'What if I _want_ to die, Ereinion? What if I cannot, or do not wish to live with the knowledge I owe my life to you, that my wife owes gratitude to the High King for the life of her husband?'

Gil-galad pursed his lips in a desperate attempt to keep his composure, while inside he wanted to scream and shout.

'Perhaps it is not I who acts like a conceited sod.'

Malthon smiled awkwardly.

'Indeed, you might be correct… I deceived myself thinking she would ever forget you. And she was deluded too, believing you ever truly loved her… So, in the end, it seems, we were indeed well matched.' 

Gil-galad tilted his head.

'I do not understand why we are discussing this now… Every moment we hesitate brings those who intend to do us harm closer. You had years to come and tell me this…'

'Deathbed confessions, Ereinion…' Malthon sneered, 'For I am dead already, and you are dying, unless somehow you find your way back. I need to get all of this off my chest, if only so I can speak clearly to Mandos concerning all of it.'

Their eyes connected once again, as if they were both adamant to keep their gazes locked until the struggle, for death, or for the final word, neither seemed certain, was over and lost. Neither could win here.

'I loved her, Malthon,' came the whispered answer, and Gil-galad knew the nail had hit home when the other's eyes seemed to contemplate casting themselves down.

'You never loved anyone in your entire life…' Was the disdainful reply, but somehow, a wavering of tone, something completely unexplainable, made it sound a weak argument. Was it perhaps a realisation of truth?

Gil-galad shook his head.

'Perhaps I do not show it as you do, but I have loved. I loved her, and I loved you…' 

_I love her still!_ he wanted to scream, but somehow understood that it was better not to.

Tears were now streaming down his cheeks, of anger, of sorrow, of righteousness and of guilt all at the same time. 'I love him,' Gil-galad continued, giving a nod towards the horse, where he, without seeing, knew Elrond's shape was still lying motionless. 'I love him as if he were my own, so much I would give my life, my eternal restfulness, to see him back safely. Neither you nor Alian alone were wronged in this.' 

'In Mandos's name, is it possible for the two of you to postpone this until we get home?'

Both of the Elves, Gil-galad turning, and Malthon repositioning the direction of his gaze, watched Elrond stand beside the horse, a little unsteady and pale, but very conscious. The Lord of Imladris's eyes grew large as he saw the arrow. 

'May the Valar have mercy…' he muttered, before leading the horse towards the others, and inspecting the wound. Then he looked at Malthon.

'Get on the horse.' His tone indicated he would not listen to any challenges, and Malthon gave a short nod, his entire physique showing submission.

Together with Gil-galad, Elrond helped Malthon mount, making sure the arrow, still present, could not give him any more pain than absolutely necessary. Elrond handed Malthon a cloth and instructed him to wrap it around the place where the arrow had pierced the flesh and press it firmly against the wound. Then, with a short shake of the head, he switched his attention to the High King.

'I shall not remove the arrow now, for I do not have the strength, nor do I have my equipment here, and I fear he would loose even more blood than you did… I merely pray there is no poison.' 

He sighed, looking at Gil-galad's shoulder. 'Are you managing?'

A slowly nod was the answer and Elrond brought his hand to the back of his own head.

'We have been fortunate once more…'

Gil-galad rubbed his eyes and sighed deeply.

'You cannot even begin to understand how glad I am you are awake.'

Elrond smiled.

'You will have to fill me in on what happened.'

Gil-galad raised an eyebrow.

'I most certainly will not. I judge you perfectly able to fill in the gaps… You were not unconscious for _that_ long.'

All of a sudden, the faraway sounds of horses could once again be distinguished.

'Stay or go?' Elrond asked, a mutual seriousness immediately overcoming both of them.

Looking up, the High King of the Noldor shook his head.

'Realistically, where would you have us go?'

Elrond nodded.

'Still, we would better get moving.'

 

'No, my Lord, we are not allowed to let you in,' the Elvish guard looked at Brougham, then switched his gaze to Danhelm. 'Not until the Lord of Imladris has returned.'

'Who gave you this order?' Danhelm calmly queried.

'The Lord Glorfindel, my Lord.'

'He is here?' Danhelm asked, well aware of the fact that Glorfindel and Celeborn could have easily passed them on the many occasions the Men had insisted on resting.

'He is not, my Lord,' the guard replied, not sharing any more information than absolutely necessary.

Brougham seemed angry.

'Once more showing a typically Elvish attitude, it seems…'

Danhelm ignored it.

'Was he here, or did he send word?'

'He send word, my Lord, a communication concerning the Lord Elrond and High King Gil-galad.'

As the names and accompanying titles were spoken, both Danhelm and Brougham reacted, though not in the same way.

Danhelm's face lit up, as Elvish faces can, but Brougham's countenance drained of colour, though he tried to hide it. Catching Danhelm's arm he pulled him a little away, still eying the Guard suspiciously.

'I propose to set up camp near the river, on the other side of the Ford.'

Danhelm nodded, returning to the guard as Brougham turned to his horse and mounted.

Together with some of his own men, he rode to where the rest of the travellers were waiting, tents already being set up, as if somehow it had been anticipated they would be staying there. 

Entering an empty command tent, Brougham turned the Ring on his finger, a gift from his master, and he shook his head.

'I doubt this shall please Him…'

 

Glorfindel found Celeborn pointing down from his horse at the remains of several Men, all apparently part of the host once belonging to the Dark Lord, now long gone. A little while removed, another Elvish rider had found horses, and Glorfindel had not needed more than a sideway glance to recognize Elrond's saddlebags, and Gil-galad's colours.

'How long?' he now asked Celeborn, who had swiftly dismounted to examine the bodies.

'This happened no more than two hours previously, but at least one of the survivors is wounded.' He directed Glorfindel's attention towards an almost indiscernible trail of blood leading into the forest. 'It seems they stayed here for a while before being overwhelmed.' Celeborn seemed to ponder his observations 'The wound is recent, and serious.'

'Mount and ride with me, for if it is as you say, whoever was here, is bound to need our assistance.' With a shrill whistle Glorfindel motioned some of their companions to join them and together they rode on, a group of twenty, following the almost imperceptible trail of blood that was left behind.

Celeborn came up beside him, as they pressed on fast, both of them noticing every sign, every piece of evidence.

'How many, would you say?' Celeborn called.

With a shake of the head, Glorfindel's answer was short.

'Three. Not more than three.'

Silently he thanked and continued praying to the Lady. Three was more than he could have hoped for. _Let them be safe…_ And even though he knew two out of three was a great deal to wish for, Glorfindel was more positive than had he been for a long while.

There had been a persistent feeling on the road, a more than desperate urging within him to change the direction they were riding in, from Imladris into the dense forest.

_And what is it that makes us give in to certain impulses like that, and discard others?_ he mused. For all this time they had not been able to find a single trace, not a solitary sign of either the Lord of Lindon or of Imladris. Nothing of Gil-galad's Guard that they had assumed was with him if he was alive, since none of their bodies had been found. 

And now, due to a mere gut reaction, they were closer than ever, to whomever it was that still roamed these woods.

Suddenly, Celeborn motioned his horse to turn a sharp angle, and without any reservations, Glorfindel followed.

It was then that he watched a dark-haired figure, dishevelled, but very much alive, emerge from among the trees.

 

As soon as Elrond discerned familiar silver and golden hair, his heart leapt, and he deserted the somewhat inadequate shelter of low trees they had sought before. Turning to Gil-galad he placed a comforting hand on his shoulder.

Both of them stayed silent, unable to speak for the moment.

The calls reached them, the riders from which they originated nearing fast.

'Galu am i Elbereth!* We have found you!'

Gil-galad raised an eyebrow.

'And it's about time too…'

*~^*~^*~^*~^*~^*~^*~^*~^*~^*~^*~^*~^*~^*~^*~^*~^*~^*~^

Galu am i Elbereth!: Blessings upon the Star-lady!

*~^*~^*~^*~^*~^*~^*~^*~^*~^*~^*~^*~^*~^*~^*~^*~^*~^*~^

*does lil dance* Yay! Feel free to scream _Cavalry!_ along with me! Go Glorfindel! Go Celeborn!

I'm so glad I finally got them out of those darn woods… :D


	8. Words Not To Be Spoken Again

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Gil-galad story, taking place after the destruction of Eregion.

Glorfindel sighed, motioning Elrond to bend his head, so he could inspect the superficial injury that had bruised the skin beneath the dark hair. The Lord of Imladris sat on a chair, hands clasped, dressed down to only tunic and trousers.

'How bad is it? The throbbing in my head disables objectivity, it seems.' he tried to joke. 'For I would say severe concussion.'

They found themselves in one of the larger encampments, in the High King's tent to be precise. Not that the High King himself was anywhere in sight. 

Not a week's journey away from Imladris, they, in time, would no doubt return there. But not just yet. 

Where Elrond had forbidden Gil-galad to travel and had advised him to take some rest instead, Glorfindel had given the Lord of Imladris similar counsel. And where Gil-galad did not listen to Elrond concerning respite, Elrond did not listen to Glorfindel.

As his fingers probed the swelling on the back of Elrond's head, perhaps a little less careful then appropriate, Glorfindel raised an eyebrow.

'Concussion is right... But it is a light one... They hit you quite fortunately... You losing consciousness is very curious.'

Elrond glowered.

'Is it now? Would you mind making your examining less persistent?'

With a shrug Glorfindel prodded the abrasion unnecessarily. 

'Perhaps you buckled under the stress.'

Elrond turned around and tried to evade Glorfindel's touch.

'You jest with me.'

A chuckle escaped the other.

'You would do the same, if our positions were the other way round.'

'Probably...' Elrond sighed, though much of it was pretence, and turned again, trying not to let amusement seep into his tone of voice.

Both were nevertheless silent for a considerable period of time.

'Had you any idea, when in the woods, that you were so close to the road as you were?' Glorfindel finally asked, still examining and assessing the damage done to the back of the other Elf-lord's head. 

Elrond, head bowed again, rubbed his eyes for a moment.

'I was unconscious on a horse... When I woke there was no time for explanations... And subsequently you arrived... I knew we had been travelling towards the road, but had little to no idea where we exactly were. Though it is unlikely I will ever admit what I have just said again.' he added with a smug smile.

 

He sat, his head in his hands, watching his feet, not able to rest his eyes on the shape lying on the only bed that was occupied, nor able to leave the tent, somehow drifting in that ambiguous place somewhere in-between.

Elrond had tried to order him away, but had at the same time understood the gravity of it all, not insisting in the end. He came every once in a while to change the dressings of the wounds. Though Gil-galad suspected it was merely to check up on him personally.

They had been seventeen... In the end, only eleven had made it out of that doomed forest… 

And this Elf, this boy… 

Findor was finally able to breathe without trouble... It had taken several days, but he seemed to be better now. 

To imagine... How preoccupied had he been after that last attack in the woods? Gil-galad wondered. 

Preoccupied enough to only think of those directly around him; Elrond and Malthon.

He couldn't have been far. Either Celeborn or Glorfindel could probably tell him exactly where they had found the almost lifeless body of this particular member of his Guard. But the fact that he had not even thought of Findor, had not even considered there might be other survivors than they themselves… Indefensible… 

He should have thought of him... Was he not supposed to? The essence of being a ruler was to look out for his people. He had not done so very thoroughly...

The rustling of clothing made him come out of his state of self-punishment. 

No doubt it was Jarin, coming to check up on his friend.

Jarin, too, blamed himself for what had happened. The part of the group he had led had accidentally been separated from the rest, not encountering much resistance. It had left each and every one of them feeling responsible for what had happened to the others afterwards.

For Jarin, Gil-galad acted strong... He had talked him through those early nights full of regret and remorse...

How easy had it been to reassure him, while all the while he felt the same, though many times worse...

_What would my father say?_ he questioned himself, raising his head. _What would he have said indeed?_

A form he did not immediately recognise made him turn. Not Jarin. He watched the Elf-lady, dressed in dark travel-clothing. Apparently she had not noticed him yet.

He was surprised, but not enough to make him reveal his presence immediately. She looked pale, worried. But she had lost little to nothing of her radiance. 

'You should not have come all the way here...' he began, but silenced himself as she turned and clasped her hand over her mouth at the sight of him.

'I thought you were... My Lord...' She lowered her gaze and stepped back, visibly shocked.

Gil-galad narrowed his brow, and rose.

'My Lady... Is it your husband you seek? He is not here.'

Alian raised her head and gazed upon him for a long while, and he stood there, returning her look intently.

'I am sorry, my Lord... I shall leave you.'

Catching the side of her heavy dresses she made to leave, but Gil-galad brought up a hand.

'Alian... Do not leave so... I did not mean to speak like that.'

She stopped, but did not turn, the fabric of her clothing clasped between her fingers. She said nothing.

Gil-galad shook his head.

'I merely wished to enquire why you came...'

Bowing her head, her back still towards him, Alian's voice was a whisper.

'I heard the High King had been wounded, and that he was to be found here... I have ascertained he is well. My presence is not needed. I ask for your leave, my Lord.'

Gil-galad rested his hand on the bed-post. For years, they had kept out of each others way. And now, when the silence was finally broken, she would leave him and continue as if nothing had occurred?

'I would I had been gravely wounded... For you would have spoken to me truthfully.' He swallowed audibly. 'You have my leave if you so wish it.'

For a moment, he truly thought she would. That she would walk on and leave. But instead she spun around, and it seemed as if she had cried, but her face was stern.

'Do not jest with such matters, my Lord.'

He nevertheless tried to smile.

'If not for Elrond and Malthon, you would have indeed found me a grave man.'

Alian shook her head.

'You have changed nothing... Never speaking in earnest unless it is with your lords...'

Placing his hand on his shoulder, where a weak pain seemed to linger always, he turned and sat down again.

'I do not wish to continue like this... Ask me... Ask me anything and I shall answer in earnest.'

The expression on her face changed as her eyes rested on the wounded Elf lying motionlessly on the bed.

'Not here, Ereinion.'

He pursed his lips as he felt something build inside him.

'Very well.' He rose again and made way for a more vacant part of the tent. 'Come.'

He heard her follow, and discovered he had not expected her to, deep inside. 

When he stopped, and turned to face her, there seemed very little he could do but stand there. 

'Did you undertake this foolish act to prove something?' she queried, looking at him. He bowed his head and turned away a little, feeling something uncomfortably similar to shame flow through his body.

'I did not do it to...'

Alian shook her head.

'You risked their lives, Ereinion, you risked and you lost lives to save one... One.'

As if she suddenly realised she spoke somewhat freely to the High King of the Noldor, she cast down her eyes and silenced herself.

Gil-galad looked at her sideways.

'You seem to conveniently forget that that _one_ , is your husband.'

She returned his gaze, her eyes uncertain.

'I know it... Am I to thank you now?'

There was a certain scorn in her voice that he did not like. But he did not wish to go back to hostility now... He would not be able to bear it.

'Do not thank me. Do not even think of it.' At the same time, as he spoke the words, he wanted to touch her, if even only her hand, wanted to feel if her skin was as warm and comforting as it had been when he had still been allowed to touch it. He wanted to tell her she was not mistaken, that he had acted arrogantly, that he had once more allowed himself to be led by his own ill-fated Noldorin pride.

But he bowed his head and remained silent.

He had been proud too many times already in the past, and she had been the victim on some, if not most, of these occasions. And his head was light... Too light to enable him to think clearly.

Then finally, when he did speak, he was not certain if he truly did.

'I was proud.'

'What truly drove you to it?' she asked him, studying his features, his face. 'Not pride alone.'

'Perhaps it was fear... Fear of what you would say if I returned and heard that I had not attempted to save him... I would have rather died than that...'

He looked up and watched her, her hands clasped, her eyes resting uncomfortably on his face.

'You almost did die... For Elbereth's sake, Ereinion, you almost did...' she whispered.

Gil-galad breathed heavily. Did these words heal all? Was it possible? Mere words, sounds, vowels, consonants... Repairing that which had been broken by words not spoken at the right time.

He shrugged, acting more uncaring than he in reality was.

'I wish,' he suddenly heard himself begin, 'I wish I could turn back time, but I cannot. I feel this,' he added, looking at her as intently as she observed him. 'But there is no way... No way whatsoever, for me to change all that has happened and love you, even though I wish it more than life itself... I cannot say; I care not, for I would not wish it, I would not want to stain you so...' 

'You love me, my Lord?' she asked him, disbelief embedded within her very tone. He was surprised by it, since it seemed so very obvious to him that he did, every single action betraying him more.

For a moment, he only stared at her. 

'I love thee, I have, and I shall… But I will not speak of it ever again. I have only one heart, my Lady... Do not ask me to break it again, especially not now that the pieces have been somewhat mended by the years.'

Slowly she nodded, but he thought his words changed something within her. They had to. She had lived centuries believing he had not loved her, and had possibly found that to be the only justification for some of her later actions.

And now all those foundations were crumbling beneath her.

Still, she stood there and merely looked at him, only her eyes betraying a glimmer of the tempest that had to be within.

'I feared you were terribly injured.'

He smiled weakly.

'Most of what you heard was likely exaggerated.'

She swallowed and nodded.

'Indeed, my Lord.'

How easy was it now, to put everything aside and put propriety at naught? To love her, to take her back, to claim her as his own, for ever. To take her in his arms and let his lips fly over her face...

And yet he did not even consider it for more than a moment.

'Methinks you will leave Middle-earth.'

Alian closed her eyes and bowed her head.

'I have not yet spoken of this to my husband, but it is indeed what I plan to suggest. Perhaps we can find peace in the Blessed Realm. We shall not find it here. Not now, not anymore.'

He wished to speak, but the sound of a throat being cleared interrupted his attempt.

Elrond's face did not emit anything.

'My Lord,' He nodded to Gil-galad, before resting his eyes on Alian. 'The Lord Malthon seeks you, my Lady.'

Alian met the High King's eyes, no words seemed to be needed.

'Tenn' enomentielva, Alian.'

'I shall remember, Ereinion.'

He slowly nodded in reply, and watched her hurry out of the tent, giving a courteous nod towards Elrond, who returned it with equal civility. 

Gil-galad looked at him. His head slightly tilted, Elrond looked back.

'Celeborn has set out for Imladris?'

Elrond nodded silently. The High King stared at Findor for a moment. Then he looked up again.

'Tomorrow, we too, shall journey back to Imladris.' He smiled at Elrond. 'I promise I shall rest there.'

If he expected an argument from the Lord of Imladris, it never came.

 

Brougham briskly left his tent and mounted the awaiting horse. 

It had been for nothing, it had failed, but all was not lost yet. Not entirely.

His men would not suspect anything now, how could they?

For all they knew he was on his way into the valley, responding to the summons of the silver-haired Elf-lord that Gil-galad had sent.

But he was going. Leaving his men, this camp, at once.

If he rode on swiftly, he would be able to join the party waiting for him within at least two days time.

For he knew with certainty: it would only be a matter of time before all would be discovered, and not even his Master would be able to save him then. Especially not his Master...

A grave miscalculation had indeed been made.

It had been made, Brougham considered, when the disquiet of the Lord of Lindon had been misjudged, when long ago emissaries had been shut out of the land between the Ered Luin and the sea, and He had thought his plans could be brought to a successful ending by simply ignoring its Lord, at that time. But they had doubted Him already, had refused to admit Him even without knowing whom He in truth had been.

Well, Brougham thought, _he_ would not be held responsible for that miscalculation.

Spurring his horse, he rode off into the wild.

 

'What do you mean, he is gone?'

Celeborn looked at Gil-galad and shook his head.

'As soon as I arrived here, I summoned every important officer I could reach, but he was the only one that never came.'

The High King turned for a moment before facing the Elf-lord again.

'Was Danhelm not supposed to keep an eye on him?'

'He is already upset enough without being accused of letting a supposed traitor escape.' Elrond remarked as he entered the makeshift library, where the conversation was taking place.

'I did not accuse him.' Gil-galad mumbled as he sat down and rested his chin in his hand. The journey had tired him, and after their arrival, news had been too important to simply put aside until they had rested.

'Good,' the Lord of Imladris replied, still dressed in most of his travel-clothing. 'And what would you have done if he had been here? You have no jurisdiction. And no doubt he has friends in Númenor.'

'So you propose we let this go?' the High King snapped, but Elrond met his eyes without fear.

'Brougham has been exposed, we know not to trust him.' He shrugged. 'If he ever returns, we can deal with him. If not, good riddance.'

Gil-galad sat back and sighed.

'You take this very lightly, methinks.'

Elrond turned and walked over to take one of the more comfortable chairs.

'I am grateful for those of us who have come out of this nightmare, who are allowed to sit here now. At this moment, let us be watchful of the East, and not be fixed on retribution and wrath.'

'So we do not speak of this?'

Elrond sighed deeply, not a sigh of regret or sadness, rather one of relief.

'We celebrate. Incessantly. Like we did before we rode into the woods.'

The sound of someone clearing his throat could be distinguished from the other end of the library.

Both Elrond and Gil-galad rested their eyes on the Elf-lord that had appeared in the doorway.

His gaze was unforgiving. 

'I believe, my Lords, that the Lord Celeborn and I would be very well able to prepare any festivities, while the both of you actually submit yourself to the respite you keep vowing to take.'

With a sigh, Gil-galad buried his head in his arms on the table, and Elrond sat back with an amused smirk.

For a moment, Glorfindel thought to recognise wayward boys, rather than Elf-lords of the realm.

Then it was Gil-galad who rose first, and made his way out of the room, patting Glorfindel on the shoulder as he walked by. Elrond shook his head and sat back.

'Am I supposed to take my example from my King?'

'For this once, I would much appreciate it.' Glorfindel said seriously. 

Not for a moment loosing his idea of dignity, Elrond slowly made way for the other door of the chamber, nearest to his rooms. Turning around he cast a look back at Glorfindel. 

'You realise I am trusting you with the celebration completely?'

Glorfindel smiled.

'I do, my Lord. But as long as the wine is good, and flows in abundance, I think we need not worry about many complaints. Especially not from you and the High King, if memory serves me right.'

Very well recalling one of the last feasts he had attended in Lindon, shortly before his sudden departure for Eregion, Elrond quickly turned to hide his smile. With a grin, he tried to recall what had actually taken place that evening. Something to do with singing, if he was correct. Loud singing.

'That was a very good wine indeed, Glorfindel.' he smiled. Receiving a knowing smile from the golden-haired Elf before he finally departed.

Smiling broadly, Glorfindel joined Celeborn and together they walked onto the balcony.

'What will this Imladris become, you think?' Glorfindel asked, as they looked out over the valley.

'It needs a great deal of work still, but somehow, this House will become much as Elrond is, I suspect. Tradition, learning, lore, all represented here. A place of reflection rather than action.' Celeborn answered. 

With a smile, Glorfindel nodded. They stood silent for a while. 

'Have you send word to your wife yet?'

'Not as yet,' Celeborn mused. 'But she will find me.'

'Have you not a daughter?' Glorfindel queried. 

'I do,' the Elf-lord smiled. 'And no doubt you shall meet her then. For now, let us concentrate on those festivities we promised our Lords.'

Nodding, Glorfindel grinned.

'Let us.'

 

It was first only one hooded figure that he saw, but as he approached the rider, he saw others appearing form the shadows, as if they had been hidden there, almost a part of it.

'Why are you here?' The voice was a hiss, and Brougham tried to make out a face, tried to find something he recognised. He did not succeed. He cleared his throat.

'Your people failed. Both Lindon and Imladris came out of this unscathed. I cannot stay with my men, the Elves already suspect me. You must take me with you.'

A period of silence went by, during which dark eyes never seemed to leave Brougham's face.

'You still have it?' came the query finally.

Pulling of his glove, Brougham nodded, holding up his hand as proof.

'I do.'

The head of the rider snapped back towards the others, and for a moment they seemed in almost-silent conversation. Then the dark eyes rested on the Númenórean lord again.

'Come.' 

As he motioned his horse past the rider, Brougham's gaze lingered on the hooded figure. Joining the others he couldn't help but count. Six. As the furthest rider started his horse, the rest followed almost at once. Brougham did the same.

Almost unnoticeably, he was accepted into their ranks. And then they were gone.

 

 

End.

 

*~^*~^*~^*~^*~^*~^*~^*~^*~^*~^*~^*~^*~^*~^*~^*~^*~^*~^

_Yet Sauron was ever guileful, and it is said that among those whom he ensnared with the Nine Rings three were great lords of Númenórean race..._

**JRR Tolkien, the Silmarillion**

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tenn' enomentielva: (Quenya) 'until we meet again'


End file.
